


Cold Hands, Warm Heart

by ShotgunSugar



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Arranged Marriage, Canon Rewrite, Drama & Romance, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Light Dom/sub, Romance, Romantic Fluff, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2020-03-29 16:07:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19023331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShotgunSugar/pseuds/ShotgunSugar
Summary: After Frigga’s death, the fate of Asgard’s throne is uncertain. That is, until the kingdom is reminded of an ancient contract between the realms; an arranged marriage between one of Asgard’s princes, and a daughter of Freyja. When Loki finds himself actually being considered for the job, he initially sees it as a means to secure his freedom once again. But what happens when he discovers something he desires more?Spoiler alert: Things don't go according to plan, that's what.Canon divergence/slight AU, OFCStarted writing this before Ragnarok was released, takes place after The Dark World and Age of Ultron.





	1. Part 1: Obligation

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my third fic, this one I might love the most. My first time writing a high romance featured piece. Kinda reads like a period drama. Hope you enjoy it!

The Bifrost swayed. Or was it the wagon? It was hard to tell when everything was a blur of color and light. These long trips were always so taxing, even when they were sped on by the might of the flying horses. The trip to Asgard was one of the longest. She had been once before. She was very young at the time, so small she had slept against her mother’s chest the whole ride there. The carriage was the same, still like new. Powder blue seat cushions, dark carved wood. Valkyries in gold relief waged war above her head. They always made her feel safe, even though their real life counterparts sometimes frightened her. It was so long ago, she couldn’t remember why they had gone, but she remembered the city. Towering, gold and silver, surrounded by glittering waterways.

They didn’t have flying horses there. They had boats. Boats for the water and boats for the sky. She preferred the horses, but she would have to go without, if her mother had her way, and she always did.

She would do without the horses, and flowers, and fruits she grew to know, but that was okay. She was used to going without. There would be new things here, new things she would learn to like. New things she would learn to eventually do without. But, she would miss the horses.

A chill crept into the carriage.

“Don’t fret,” her mother whispered, tenderly touching her knee, “we’ll be there soon.”

❄❄❄

“How could you?” Odin bellowed, his fist pounding the armrest of his massive golden throne, “How could you do this to Asgard? To Midgard? To your mother and I?”

Loki refused to admit any shame. He met his father’s rage with a hateful glare of his own. “How could you lie to me for my entire life? Tell me that, ‘Father’.” Venom dripped from his words. He only hoped his father would feel its sting.

Odin stood. “That is no excuse!”

“That is every excuse! You _lied_ to me. I thought I was your _son_ . But I was just another tool to help you to hold on to your kingdom. You _used_ me.”

“Loki,” Frigga spoke, wringing her hands, “you _are_ our son. We love you darling, you must believe that.”

Loki chose to ignore the tears in her eyes.

Odin frowned. “Do you not truly feel the gravity of your crimes? Wherever you go, there is war, ruin and death. All this because _Loki_ desires a throne. And what role did the Midgardians play in your revenge then, _hmm_? Did all those mortals deserve to pay the price for my mistakes?”

“It is my birthright to be a king,” Loki hissed. “If not by you, then by Laufey... I was born to rule. I went down to Midgard to rule the people of Earth as a benevolent god. Just like you...It is my birthright.”

 **“** Enough of your lies Loki! _Your birthright_ was to die as a child. Cast out onto a frozen rock. If I had not taken you in, you would not be here now to hate me. I have told you before, our time with the mortals is over, they no longer-”

Thor stepped forward. “Forgive me, Father, but that isn’t so. Midgard needs our protection more than ever. Their world is full of new dangers, dangers they don’t understand. We need to-”

“ _We_ are the cause of their dangers! The destroyer, the tesseract, caused by us,” Odin spat.

“Caused by Loki!” Thor argued, pointing to his brother. “Stopped by me. And there are other problems, the army Loki commanded-”      

Odin waved his spear. “I have heard enough!”

“As have I,” Loki snarled. “Father, if I am for the axe, then for mercy's sake, just swing it.”

“If I thought it would pay any reparations to the people you have wronged, you can believe I’d give your head. But the midgardians won’t know the price that you have paid. With the bridge to their world broken, and the tesseract so dangerous, I can see no good that it would do. What’s more, you are a prince of Asgard, and no king should ever have to put his child to death.”

Loki sneered at Odin. He would not show the old man fear now. “Then I am to be banished? My powers taken?”

“We have nowhere else to send you. Jötunheim is out of the question, and it is doubtful you would live out the day on Midgard. There is always Muspelheim, but... your mother has swayed me to be lenient. You will remain here, on Asgard, jailed, for the rest of your days.”

“So you’re going to put me in time out for a few hundred years? Hide me away like all of your other mistakes? Ha! You know as well as I that you’ll never be able to keep me here. I can be patient.”

Odin sighed and shook his head. “Take him away,” he ordered the guards.

Loki did not fight them. He would have _some_ of his dignity intact.

Odin gave a great sigh as he sank down into his throne. Frigga stood by his side, patting his arm.

“What more are we to do, my love?” he asked her, taking her hand and kissing her curled fingers. “What more are we to do?”

❄❄❄

That had been months ago, and everything had changed. Their mother was gone, Prince Loki was killed in battle, the elves were defeated, and Jane was finally safe on Earth. Thor now spoke with his father alone, perhaps to say goodbye.

“I cannot give you my blessing, nor can I wish you good fortune.”

Thor nodded. “I know.”

“If I were proud of the man my son had become, even that I could not say. It would speak only from my heart. Go, my son.”

But there was something changed. Odin had shrunk in his throne with grief after Frigga had passed, and his age had born down on him so sharply so suddenly. He had scarcely looked like a king then.

But now, after learning of Loki’s death, he appeared too tall, too strong. To content to sit there and admire his younger son. Even if Loki hadn’t been his favorite, this would never have been his reaction.

“It... honors me to hear this, Father... if only it were truly you in that chair.”

“What?”

“Loki, did you really think you could get away with playing pretend for the rest of your days? Would not the people begin to wonder?”

Odin grinned a wicked grin, and with a glimmering blur, revealed his true face. The fallen prince, just as Thor had declared.   

“I thought you were dead! You let me mourn you a second time. Have you no shame? Truly.”

Loki laughed in his face. “Yes, I’m supposed to be dead, and you’re supposed to be stupid. What happened there I wonder?”

“Perhaps I have spent too much time with you.”

“I see…”

Loki glanced to his side. Trickery had failed him. Escape was all he had.

Thor raised his hammer. “Loki, no. Where is Father?”

Loki bolted forward but Thor lobbed his hammer into him, knocking him back into the throne and pinning him there.

“Where is Odin?” Thor demanded, grabbing Loki by the collar of his coat.

“Alright,” he hissed back, “alright. I’ll show you.” 

“You’ll tell me. Then you’ll return to your cell.”

Loki smiled sheepishly. It seemed he would have to be patient a little longer.

❄❄❄

“And they agreed to this, Mother? No tricks?”

“The trickster is _their_ god my dear,” her mother purred. “Odin and Frigga agreed to the trade a long time ago. After the wars. And now this letter. It seems cousin Frigga was deeply worried about the state of her family before she died. She’s kept things from me, she always has. How could she have two sons and no heirs?”

“One of them died. That’s what Asta said.”

“I’ve told you not to listen to everything your sister says... you know how she loves to gossip, whether it’s true or not. She’s little more than a twit that Asta.  And if one of Frigga’s sons had died, what of the second? For her to write me after so long... she must have been truly distressed. I suppose we won’t know the truth of it ‘til that old bearded oaf comes clean with it. That castle of theirs is built on nothing but secrets. We simply won’t know until we arrive. Try to rest till then, my child.”

“And you promise you’ll keep up your end of the bargain?” asked the daughter.

“Well, you’re _here_ aren’t you?”

“I meant to _me_.”

“Yes... I’ll keep my word. Now just rest. Close your eyes and rest.”

❄❄❄  

A years time passed and spring came to Asgard, or as close as Asgard ever came to spring. Flowering trees opened their tiny winking eyes one by one, and shed their petal tears into the breeze. Odin sat on his throne once more, and Loki in his cell. Thor agreed to remain in Asgard until the mourning period for his mother and the others had ended and the reconstruction of the palace was complete. Thor saw very little of his father in these weeks. He was busy planning his journey ahead. Then had come his months on Midgard, yet more destruction. Odin had his own hands full. The repairs, the speeches. Dealing with Heimdall. Neither father or son was expecting the watchtower's horn to sound.

The low and guttural blast of the horn blared out across the city like a ripple on the surface of a pond.

Thor looked up from polishing a piece of armor. Odin turned his attention from the hammering of stone masons and the questioning architects. Guards lept into action, tightening ranks near the palace, jumping into boats and ships, to reach the tower and see the cause of the commotion. 

It sounded again, and then a third time. All of Asgard held its breath. Another blast meant a fire. A disaster. An attack. But then the horn fell silent. It was not an attack. Thor set aside the armor, a memento from Lady Sif and their first battle together, and convened with his father in the throne room.

Thor gave the old king a questioning look, trying to mask his concern. “Father?”

Odin was stone faced and stoic. His own way of masking concern. If Frigga had been there to see them she would have struck them both. Or at the least given them a look that implied it was her wish to do so.

An Einherjar would bring the King news and so Odin and Thor walked out the great doors together to meet him.

After what felt like an eternity, even for an Asgardian, the Einherjar rode up to meet them.

“My King,” he puffed, more out of breath than the horse he was astride.

“What is it? Why was the call made?” Odin pressed him. The grip on his spear uneasy.

“My King, we have...guests.”

“Guests?”

“From Vanaheim. It is the Queen, Allfather.”

Odin rubbed his knuckle with his thumb. His brow creased and his mouth drew up tight, though still turned down at the corners.

Thor looked to his father. “The Queen? Lady Freyja? What purpose would she have to journey here?”

“You cleared the warmongers from Vanaheim did you not?”

“They were all put down, I give my word. And even had they not been thoroughly rooted out, she would send a call, an emissary...Lady Freyja hasn’t set foot in Asgard herself since...since grandfather passed. Why would she come now?”

Odin stared out at the gleaming city and hefted a great sigh. “Let us go and see for ourselves my son. And hope it is not more war. I have had my fill of bloodshed in these last few years...”

The soldier cleared his throat.“The horses have set them down in the eastern gardens, Allfather,” he spoke as he turned over his horse to Thor.  A second horse was saddled and brought to Odin, and together they rode over the smooth bridges towards the scent of fresh flowers.

Sure enough, in the eastern gardens there stood the gleaming gold carriage of Freyja. Not the single chariot pulled by her fairy cats, but a carriage, big enough for four. The four unnaturally large horses that had carried it through the bifrost milled about the garden, snacking on bits of leaves and grass. As white as snow they were, with silver wings and golden hooves. Fed only Idun’s golden apples, grown in the eternal spring of Vanaheim, these horses obeyed only the Valkyries and their queen, Freyja.

Odin and Thor dismounted their own horses and strode into the garden. Thor smiled and cautiously approached one of the winged horses. The creature eyed him warily but gradually submitted to the stroke of his palm.

“I’ve heard legends of these fjöðurhestur, but I’ve never seen one in person...such a majestic beast.”

Thor stroked the horse’s neck, beaming. 

“Magnificent aren’t they?”             

Thor jumped slightly. He hadn’t seen the woman standing to his side. Tall and strong, she had hair of flowing gold and eyes as blue as a frost giant’s skin. Though Thor knew her to be twice the age of his father, her face was fresh and could almost be considered young. Only the slight beginnings of wrinkles marked her face, and if she had gray hairs, they were too few to see. This too was the work of the golden apples.

She was wrapped in a loose gown of folded white and soft blossom pink. She wore a golden breastplate and ornate bracers. Delicate and intricate, they were clearly for show, but the sword that hung at her hip was very much real. Jewels and precious metals decorated her fingers, neck, and hair, and she wore sandals on her feet rather than boots.

“Lady Freyja,” he addressed her, kneeling to her as he would his own father.

Odin gave a curt bow. “Cousin Freyja, it has been such a long time. It is good to see you in such fine health.”

Freyja returned with a petite curtsy. “And you, Allfather, still up and about. Asgard is well?”

“Well enough.”

“Yes, we heard about the dark elves. Nasty business. We’ve come to pay our respects to our dearly departed Frigga.”

“Your kindness is greatly appreciated,” Thor assured her, his head still stooped.

Freyja approached him and lightly pet his head. “You must be the elder child, Thor was it? Stand up and let your old cousin take a look at you.”

Thor chuckled, half of amusement, half of nervousness. He kissed her hand before standing to face her.

“Mm, my my, the spitting image of old Bor,” she purred, feeling up the muscles of his arm. “So handsome and strong.”

Thor blushed slightly and gave another laugh.

“You and Frigga did well with this one. You should be proud of your heir.”

Odin almost smiled. “Too proud to say.”

“What of the other one? Loki, isn’t it? Is he away?” Freyja asked, adjusting a bangle on her wrist.

Thor and Odin exchanged uneasy glances.

“Forgive him his absence Lady Freyja, he is...otherwise indisposed for the time being,” Thor answered her.

She frowned. Perhaps it was meant to be concern, but is came across as rather annoyed instead. “Nothing serious I hope? One of my daughters said she had heard a nasty rumor one of your sons had died...”

Odin gave a dismissive wave and a shake of his weary head. “No, nothing quite as serious as all that after all.”

“Ah, well, I am relieved to hear it.”

“Do you wish to see Frigga’s memorial now? I understand you two were very close before she came to Asgard. Or perhaps you’d like to rest. You’ve had a long journey no doubt.” Odin asked the Vanir queen, gesturing towards the palace.

“Yes, we are quite tired, could you bear to share some refreshments with us first?” Freyja asked.

“Us?” Odin asked, eyeing the carriage, with its curtains drawn shut.

“Yes, I’ve brought some company. Where may we rest?”

Odin turned to an Einherjar standing nearby. “Have the servants prepare rooms for our guests. Wherever is best after the...well, wherever is best. And have food and drink brought to the great room, you know the one. Sweet mead I think. Go,” he ordered him.

The  Einherjar nodded and jogged off to inform the palace of the kings demands.

“How fares your own family Frayja? Freyr?” Odin asked.

Thor had never met his eccentric second cousin Freyr. Like all the Vanir gods, he was an icon of fertility, youth, and abundance. If Freyja was the mother of witchcraft, it was clear what her brother was the father of. Or rather, what _wasn’t_ he the father of...

The Vanir might have lacked the strength of the Asir, but they made up for it in virility, magic, and of course, their great parties.

In his mother’s stories, Freyr was the most beloved of the Vanir. A sailor and wanderer, Freyr brought wealth and plenty wherever he visited. His father said he was a womanizer and a drunk who was loose with his coin. Thor hoped they were both a little true.

“He spends most of his time in Alfheim these days, fancies himself king of the elves. I doubt the elves would agree but they don’t turn him away,” Freyja answered.       

Odin nodded. “The children? There are...twelve of them now, if I’m not mistaken.”

Freyja smiled and padded off a few steps to admire some flowers. “Sixteen now. Three more sons and a daughter. My sixth grandchild comes soon. Aelga might marry this year as well. All are doing well.”

Freyr was not the only fertile one. Freyja was well known for keeping many lovers, and she adopted children often as well. Counting them all, Thor had guessed there might be as many as twenty-seven who held the title of Freyjason or Freyjasdottir. Far more were in the royal family if you counted Freyr’s children, who lived in the palace also. Such a branched family tree might have been scandalous in Asgard, or most any other kingdom, but things were different in Vanaheim. Each child, legitimate or not, was cared for, loved, just as a prince. Each one was special to Freyja. The Vanir valued their offspring more than the purity of their bloodline. Thor didn’t think that was necessarily such a bad thing, but his father clearly didn’t approve. Still, he remained cordial.

Freyja plucked a tiny blossom from a tree and tucked it into her hair, almost absentmindedly.

“Prince Thor, I hear you are to thank for putting a stop to the dark elves. That surely was no small task. I’m impressed, and grateful.”

Thor nodded sheepishly. “It was a hard battle, won only thanks to the help of some Midgardians. Loki helped too, I suppose.”

Freyja’s brow raised. “Midgardians?”

“A brilliant scientist, Jane Foster, and her brave companions.” Thor beamed with pride and adoration.

Freyja cast an intrigued eye over him, the nuances of his mood far from lost on her.

“Tell me Freyja, whom is it that you’ve brought with you? I should like to know.”

Her eyes gleamed with new light at his words. “Oh, one of my kin. And handmaids of course. To tell any more would ruin the surprise. Shall we move on?”

Odin stared at her with distrust. The Vanir were sneaky, tricky little things. This was how the wars between the gods had lasted so long. To trust their Queen so fully would be ill advised at best.

Then he merely nodded and climbed onto his horse once again. Thor stood watching the fjöðurhestur returning to their harnesses, without so much as a single command from their queen. No driver held their reins, they simply knew the way.

One bobbed its head and stamped the ground impatiently, another whinnied and flapped it’s great muscular wings. He would very much so like to see them fly. But they were tired, and Asgard had fine roads. They walked by him instead.

On his own horse, Thor rode behind the carriage. There was a window here as well, thin and high, not so easily seen into but it had no curtain covering it. Thor could just make out the curve of a head, but little else. Once, he almost thought he saw an face peering back at him, but it moved away so quickly he could not be sure.

        ❄❄❄

The great room was round, a grand fire pit roared in the center. Tables, chairs, couches and fur piles were prepared for relaxing. A spread of cheese, roasted meats, fresh fruits, and bread was at disposal, and chilled wine and mead stood by the pitcher. 

“Your builders certainly like these circular rooms don’t they?” Freyja asked Odin before taking a sip of mead.

“Not as much as they love the columns,” Thor joked.

“Is there any advantage to circles? Structurally, I mean? I’m curious now.”

Thor shrugged before tipping back a mug of ale himself. “I’m not sure, but maybe I’ll get _around_ to finding out sometime.”

A potentially tipsy Freyja cackled with laughter on the plush sofa. “Oh Odin, you’ve always been such a bore, but I’ve stayed away too long! I’ve actually missed Asgard. It’s a pity I hadn’t come sooner to see sweet Frigga. But, when you live as we do, you always feel you have so much more time…”

“And then, you do not,” Odin finished, lifting his glass. “To Frigga.”

“To Asgard,” Freyja countered with a gentle smile.

“To the gods,” Thor said with a smirk.

They drank.

“Will your companion be joining us?” Odin asked Freyja. “Are they not hungry? Thirsty?”

Freyja twirlled a curl around her finger. “About that. Seems I’ve bided my time long enough…”

Odin glared at her. “What are you up to Freyja?”

“As I'm sure you've gathered by now, saying goodbye to Frigga was not my only reason for visiting. We have something we must discuss, you and I. We will need to speak somewhere more private. And you will want both of your sons present.”

Thor slowly lowered his glass onto the squat stone table in front of him. “As I explained Lady Freyja, Loki is-”

“Indisposed, yes, I heard you. But if he is not dead, you will want him there. This is a matter of dire consequence for your kingdom, and mine.”

“Very well,” Odin growled. “We can speak in the war room.”

Freyja stood first and waved her handmaid away, presumably to fetch her mystery companion, then lazily swayed out of the room. Odin stood to follow but Thor held his arm.

“Father, what is it that Freyja has to say? You know something, I can see it in your eyes.”

“I’m not certain,” he mumbled. “Freyja is a tricky one. She can be a real snake in the grass, like your brother...and the Asir and Vanir have never truly gotten over the war. Tends to make things difficult between us. I can’t say what she might try. Go and keep her company. I’ll have the guards secure Loki.”

“You’re really going to let him parade about in front of our guests? We can’t possibly hope to trust him to behave…let alone not to kill one of them.”

Odin grunted. “No, we can not. But what choice do we have? I know Freyja. I have done battle with her...I know her games. If she has set her mind on this sure enough to travel this far, she won’t be giving it up so easily. And I am too old for another war. ”

Thor nodded knowingly and gave his father an affectionate pat on the shoulder before following Freyja to the war room.             

❄❄❄

The war room was not round. There was no cheery fire at its center. There were no platters of delicious treats. Stark, and dim, and grave, this room had been built by and for war. There was a table in the room, a stone oval, on which would normally sit battle plans or war reports. Currently, however, it was strewn with architectural drawings for the repairs to the throne room. Nine gray marble columns, as thick and as tall as trees, encircled the table. One for each of the realms. On the ceiling, suspended in stars, Yggdrasil’s painted roots and branches reached out and encircled each one. Odin could have had it painted with Asgard’s many victories, but there was no need for a reminder of blood and death in a war room. Thor imagined the war councils might look up at the ceiling and, instead, be reminded of what they were fighting for. He hoped they did anyways.

Freyja sat under the Vanaheim pillar, fidgeting with a kris dagger taken from a nearby display. No one had sat in that seat since Hogun’s great uncle had negotiated the last bill of reparations between Vanaheim and Asgard. She was alone. No secret traveling companion or handmaiden in tow.

Thor searched the room, perplexed, before taking his usual seat, the right hand of the Allfather. “Lady Freyja?”    

Freyja smiled and tapped a finger to her lips. “Patience dear boy, all good things come to those who wait. And all things in their time.  Besides, I love a good surprise, don’t you?”

“I might, but my father-”

“Oh forget the old man, this is too exciting!” she tittered like a woman half her age.

Thor shook his head but dropped the matter. After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence the heavy metal doors clattered open and Odin appeared.  Six soldiers followed him, in two neat little rows. In the center of all of them was Loki, chained and shackled, and looking as pleased as could be. His shirt was rumpled, one sleeve pushed up to the bend of his arm and the other sagging down. His trousers were torn at one knee and his hair had been haphazardly tied back to hide it’s true state of filth. At the very least his face had been washed clean. And though he was playing up his delight in being out of his cell, if only for a short while, Thor saw in him a haggeredness he had not expected. He looked so tired. Something behind his eyes had aged a century in a single short year. But of course, what did he expect. Loki was wild, and what happens to a wild animal in a cage?

Loki’s face fell for a moment. “Oh...no one told me we had guests. Well _now_ I'm embarrassed.”

Freyja ogled the spectacle before her with her mouth nearly agape. She was so surprised by the sight she stood from her chair with the kris in her lap. It clanged to the floor and the sound carried all the way to the domed ceiling over the silence.

“I see,” she said at last. “This is what you meant by...indisposed. We hadn’t heard that one of your sons had been...jailed.”

Odin’s expression was bitter, one of shame. “Loki has...been up to no good of late. More so than usual.  He has gravely missteped his bounds, and so he is now a prisoner of Asgard.”

Loki gave a hoarse laugh. “A misstep? Is that what we call treason these days? Forgive me if I’m out of touch, living in a dungeon will do that to you, you know.”

“Loki, mind your tongue in front of our guest,” Odin snapped, the grip on his spear tightening.

He wanted to spit in the old man’s face.

“You’re the one disrespecting her by trying to lie to her. Lady Freyja is far more clever than any of you. Who do you think mother learnt it from? Do you honestly think she would believe a ‘misstep’ would end a prince in the dungeons?” he fired back.

“You will mind your tongue or we will mind it for you,” Odin demanded, moving towards his seat at the head of the table. “The choice is yours.”

“As you command Allfather.” Loki performed a deep mock bow and snickered to himself before being pushed forward by one of his guards.

He was made to stand to Odin’s left. The guards remained. He made no attempt to look at Thor, and Thor made every attempt to pretend he was not looking at him.

_I don’t need your pity, fool._

Freyja slowly sunk back into her seat, as if the last 2,000 years of her life had hit her all at once. This had certainly seemed to take the wind from her sails.

“Well then,” she murmured, touching her fingers to her lips. “That certainly does make things more... _interesting_ to say the least…”

“Lovely to see you again cousin Freyja,” Loki cajoled, giving her his most impish of smiles.

Freyja, always a picture of dignity, smiled and waved to him. “Hello dear.” 

“I have brought him, what is left of my family is here. Now will you tell us why you have come?” Odin implored, slouching back into his chair.

Delight flickered over Freyja’s face, but only momentarily. Loki doubted anyone else had seen it before it was coated over with a mask of pensive reflection.

“I told you that we came to pay our respects to Frigga, and that was no lie, but my dear friend’s death has brought me here for another reason as well.”

Odin coughed. “None of your speeches Freyja, we are not your public.”

Freyja cast an icy glare in his direction. “Frigga wrote to me, some few days before her death. She sent a courier with the party that rounded up the last band of marauders in my lands. Let me read it to you Allfather, so that you may be stunned as I was.”

The letter read:

_Dearest Freyja,_

_I hope my letter finds you well. I hear that the riots in our homeland were not as flamed as they were in other realms, and for that I am thankful._

_Trying times visit Asgard of late. My husband is recovered, but for how long, I can not say. I fear this last sleep has taken more of him than we know. My sons have both returned to me, but in what state? My eldest loves one whom he can not keep, and the younger loves not but for power. It is my deepest fear that disaster is upon our kingdom._

_I fear for my family, but these are matters which I must deal with as a wife and a mother. My strength must be my own. But greater is my fear for my people, for Asgard. I fear, that at current status, we have no heir to fill the role of king. And I fear we shall soon need one. You know my feelings well dear friend. It is rare a Vanir is wrong about such feelings._

_Come to Asgard, let us review the contract. I need to know that it is in place should my fears become reality._

_All my love,_

_Your Frigga_

 

Odin stared at the back of the parchment clutched in Freyja’s hand with such intensity, one might have thought his heart had stopped. He spoke not a word.

“Father,” Thor beseeched him, “what is this contract she speaks of?”

But still he did not speak. He held out his hand and a guard collected the letter from Freyja and delivered it into his palm. He read over it slowly, then again, before gently tossing it onto the table. Thor had not seen his father in such shock since he first learned of Loki’s betrayal.

“A long time ago, when Odin was young and the wars between us were growing old, I gave him his bride Frigga. She was my most trusted and beloved friend, and had she asked I gladly would have gone to war again to keep her home in Vanaheim. But she wished for peace, and I suppose even then some part of her loved him. So I let her go. A union of Asir and Vanir blood, the promise of an Allfather who bore both bloodlines, this would at last solidify the peace between us.”

Freyja paced the room as she spoke, around the table one way, then back around the other.

 “However, some years passed and they had not produced an heir. Frigga wrote to me, troubled, asking for advice. Of course, I passed on my knowledge but her anxieties would not pass. Eventually, we came up with a plan. A concordat of sorts.”

“That was a long time ago Freyja, we had our child,” Odin spoke, his voice muffled by his doubts.

“Frigga made me swear, that if she was unable to birth an heir, I would grant her a child of my own to take the role. If it meant preserving the peace of the nine realms, she did not mind lying to the people. But Odin was uneasy with these terms and so the deal was worked and reworked, until the contract suited all parties as best as it was able.”

Thor stood from his seat, more out of confusion than outrage. “My father is right, Frigga had children, why bring this contract up now?”

Freyja smiled, almost sadly. “Because I fully believe that according to this letter, It was Frigga’s last wish to enact the contract.”

Loki bit the inside of his lip to keep from grinning _too_ wide.

_Now this is interesting..._

“But Asgard has an heir, how can you hope to install a child of your own upon the throne?” Thor asked, his frustration growing.

“She does not,” Odin answered, his eyes still glued to the letter. “Not directly.”

“More importantly,” Loki spoke up, “why am I here? You've made it abundantly clear that matters of the throne no longer concern me.”

_Nothing of Asgard concerns me any longer at all._

“Pay attention and you just might figure it out,” Freyja scolded him.

She pulled the wilting flower from her hair and tossed in onto the table. “The contract covered several angles to the predicament, including this one.”

She withdrew a thick rolled scroll from the folds of her gown, unrolled it, and read aloud.

“And finally, if the ruling parties of either family have produced an heir that has been deemed unfit to rule, or in the event of abdication, the aiding party shall intercede, by granting a suitable child of their own to serve as consort.”

She laid the scroll down on the table and turned to face Odin and his sons head on once again.

“Of course the contract goes into far more detail, but all you really need to know is that your mother, father, and I all agreed that if there ever came a day that a suitable heir could not be found for Asgard or Vanaheim, the other would provide one through legal clauses. A consort. In other words, this is a marriage contract.”

Thor laughed. “You can't be serious.”

“Oh, congratulations brother!” Loki teased. “When is the ceremony?”

“I assure you I am serious. I gave Frigga my word to protect the future of her kingdom.  This is the method we agreed upon. By marrying into your blood, my daughter would be recognized as queen here, and under Odin's guidance, for as long as he is able to grant it, she can exercise as ruler until such a time that one of the rightful heirs can step up and take the job, or their own future child comes of age.”

Thor turned to his father. “Surely she can't do this, Asgard has a king!”

“Yes, a king who foolishly agreed to this contract. A king who is old and dying. The deal is ironclad, the word of one ruler to another is not so easily broken. Yes, she can do this, because I gave her my permission.”

Loki shook himself in his chains. “So, you intend to turn the throne over to outsiders? Just like that? After all the guff you gave me?”

Loki shook his head and laughed. “I don’t believe this. I do not believe this.”

“I have no choice!” Odin yelled. “I gave my word...to break this agreement would mean war.”

“Then we go to war!” Loki hissed.

Odin merely shook his head. “With the nine realms in chaos as they are, I fear this would most certainly be a war we would not win. And what's more, I agree with her.”

“What?” both Thor and Loki shouted to their father.

“This contract was how we agreed to handle this sort of situation should it ever arise. And I too believe it was Frigga’s wish. The peace of the nine realms is more important. It's what she gave her life for…”

Odin stood from his seat and Freyja ceased her wandering.

“My last act as king will not be one of shame, to go back on my word. Unless Thor chooses not to abdicate the throne to protect Midgard as he had planned, we must enact the concordat.”

Thor leaned closer to his father, as if being able to see his face better would help the Allfather’s straining eyes to see reason. “Father, I can't do that...if there truly are other weapons out there like the Aether, then you know just how dangerous they are. Asgard is supposed to protect the nine realms, _all_ of them, and I can’t do that if I’m here watching over Asgard in times of peace. I must go, father.”

Odin nodded. “I know you feel this to be true my son…I know”

Freyja laughed. “So you wait a few more weeks, get married, smile for all the simple little people, and then you announce your little mission or what have you and you’re off. What’s the fuss with that?”

“If only it could be so simple Lady Freyja, but my brother loves another,” Loki announced with a smirk.

_The crown would be wasted on his empty head anyways._

“The mortal, this Jane Foster. Obviously.” Freyja mused, sitting on the stone table and meticulously adjusting the hem of her gown. “What has love to do with it anyways? This is politics my dear boy.”

Thor choked on his breath. “I-That is-”

“Would someone please explain to me what in the name of Surtur I am doing here?” Loki demanded, straining against his chains.

_Calling me here for this, as if my thoughts on the matter counted for anything. As if I have a say.  
_

“Because explaining the agreement twice would be tiresome,” answered Freyja

Loki cocked his head to the side. “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

“A daughter of my choosing has been brought here to marry a prince of Asgard. Never did I say it had to be the eldest son.”

Loki erupted into laughter. “In case you haven’t noticed Lady Freyja, I’m not exactly in a position that lends itself to courting.”

“Would you like to be?” she asked him.

Loki’s body stiffened. The guards stiffened. Thor and Odin exchanged uneasy glances.

“You have my attention…”

Freyja unrolled the contract, batting it down the table. “There are so many clauses here, so many stipulations, we have leverage. I’m a queen Loki, a queen with a realm all my own. Marry my daughter and I can promise you a reprieve. You may not get the throne of Asgard, but you can have a free life on Vanaheim, as easy as you please.”

“What?” Loki tried to keep the tremble from his voice, but he was confident he hadn’t succeeded.

“You heard me.”

“Can she do that?” Thor asked his father.

Odin hung his head. “If he were to marry the princess, she could have him extradited to Vanaheim under the guise of having a familial obligation to perform. An heir to provide. After that, it would no longer be in our hands…”

Loki wound the thick links of chain around his palm. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. A couple of hollow vows and he was a free man. Could it really be that simple?

_No, there’s something more here. What are you playing at Freyja?_

“So we would be...trading places. I go back to Vanaheim, I go free, and she remains here, a prisoner of Asgard?” he asked her.

_I’ll root this out one way or another, old woman._

“Queen of Asgard,” Thor corrected him. “She would be queen.”

“What difference would that make?” Loki spit back. “She would still be trapped here, no doubt against her will. A queen thrown to the dogs is still only a queen of dogs. But that’s her problem isn’t it? After all, she volunteered didn’t she?”

Thor bent over the table towards him. “Loki, think about this. Please.”

Hot anger burned in Thor’s eyes but Loki ignored it.

_As if you’d do any different in my shoes, brother._

Freyja stood and walked back to her seat under the pillar of Vanaheim. “Oh, you should both think about it. Thor, security for your people, and a throne always waiting for you should you like to take it. Loki, a new chance at a new life, freedom to go where you want, live as you please.”

Loki scowled at Freyja.“Then you intend to make us compete for her? Sorry, but I’ve been competing with Thor my entire life, and it hasn’t gotten me anywhere so far. Congratulations brother, hope you don’t expect much in the way of a wedding gift.”

Loki turned to leave. “Take me back to my cell,” he muttered to the guard. “This was a waste of my time.”

Freyja cackled with laughter. “Who in the heavens told you it was yours to decide, boy?”

Loki paused, but wasn’t interested enough to turn around to face the old queen.

“I asked my daughters for a volunteer to marry one of the princes from Asgard. Sylvi, my eldest, the strongest of my valkyries declared that her kingdom needed her at their defense. Alfhild, free spirited and talented at nearly all she attempts, turned down the offer, saying being queen would tie her down. Ragna, my most wise also turned you away. She claimed that Asgard was more trouble than it was worth and that the valkyries needed her to orchestrate their defenses. I thought with certainty that Nanna, a born diplomat, would like to personally see the matter resolved...but she claimed that she could never love another kingdom as much as she loved her own, and this would cloud her judgment. I’m running out of daughters. I’m running out of patience.”

Freyja was on her feet again, pacing the table again, like a cat ready to strike.

“Asta, young and empty headed, but beautiful beyond compare, I thought, what objection could she possibly have for turning down the role of queen. She says she is too young and beautiful to marry yet, she would be wasted on a single man. She also feared you might be ugly. I told her I knew not.  Last I asked Oydis. A middle child, perfectly plain, but level headed and not dull. She would be a good wife, and in time, even a good queen. But even my most practical daughter refused the offer. She said, of all things if you can believe it, that she wished to marry for love. And though I find it silly, a mother is weak in such ways to her children. And so it fell at last to this child. She made no bargains, no inquiries, she swore to fill the role of bride but for one thing. She wanted to meet you, and choose for herself who she would marry.”

Freyja moved for the far doors, decidedly, pointedly. As if she had been rehearsing it in her head.

“So now, won’t you at least meet your future queen?”

Loki sighed and turned back to face the room. “What say you, brother? Shall we see what barrel Freyja has scraped the bottom of for your bride to be?”

Thor didn’t answer.

_Oh come now, would it kill you to indulge me at least a grin? It’s not as if I have many chances for jokes these days._

Odin stood and straightened to his full height. “We shall receive her, to turn her away would be unkind and rude.”

Thor looked between his Father and the foreign queen in disbelief.

“Send her in,” Freyja called towards the curtained doorway.

“Wait.” Odin barked. “Wait. Unchain him.”

Thor visibly flinched at the words. “Father, are you mad?”

Loki’s eyes widened in surprise.

_Yes, are you mad?_

Odin waved him aside. “Unchain him just so he may greet the princess properly. It would not do to embarrass her this way. You can bind him again afterwards.”

“Yes Allfather,” replied the guard as he fumbled with the key.

The chains clattered to the floor and the guard scooped them up and deposited them out of sight. A wicked, look crossed Loki’s face. Rage burned high in his chest.

“Don’t even try it,” Thor warned him.

Loki was about to respond when the curtain moved and the a young woman entered the room.

The sight of her was breathtaking. Not because she was beautiful, though she may have been, but because the scene was so entirely grim.

She wore a gown of pale blue, white, and silver. What little light the room had to offer was caught and reflected from the countless crystals that adorned her, and though it was bright, it was joyless. Her face was hidden behind a veil of white, held aloft by a large crown like cap. Her hair, long and filled with intricate and ornate braids, also appeared to be white. She walked slowly, gracefully, but not tall. She bowed her head and cast her eyes low, like some sort of cloistered sister or mourning widow. Only her well manicured fingertips peeked out from her long sleeves. She lifted her gown only enough to reveal the tips of her silver slippers. Aside from that, nothing of her was visible.

Thor glanced at Loki, but Loki pretended to be too busy trying to make himself more presentable.

Veils weren’t common in Vanaheim or Asgard, even at weddings. This was strange, and slightly disconcerting at the least. 

_Well this should be fun. Did Freyja have an ugly daughter? I’d never heard she had._

The princess was flanked by the two handmaidens. Both wore dresses of navy, but both were far whiter than the veiled figure trailing behind them. All the color had run from their faces, and they were undeniably trembling. That wasn’t entirely unheard of for those meeting the Allfather for the first time, but their nervous glances behind indicated a different source for their fear.

Loki watched them with intrigue.

_What has them so nervous then? The queen? Or her bairn?_

He hardly thought either intimidating.

A chilly blast of air followed them inside through the open door.

“Your Highness,” Freyja announced, “allow me to present my daughter Frösdine, fifth princess of Vanaheim.”

The demure figure gave them a deep curtsy, bowing so low Loki was certain her crown would come tumbling off like a head rolling from the chopping block. When she raised up again her eyes caught his through the lace of her veil. As pale as icicles and just as sharp, but he could see little else.

Odin bowed his head ever so slightly. “A pleasure Lady Frösdine. I bid you welcome to Asgard.”

“Thank you, Allfather,” the girl breathed out. Her voice was thin and brittle, like glass, but not innately unpleasant. She was nervous. Strained.

_She’s weak. You can smell it on her. She won’t last as any kind of queen._

“These are my sons, Thor, the eldest, and Loki, the younger.”

Thor smiled at the obscured girl and gave her a deep bow. “Frösdine, that’s an...unusual name. Welcome to Asgard. If you’d like a tour I would be more than happy to show you around.”

Loki sneered at him.

_There he goes, turning on his oafish charms already._

She curtsied in return. “Thank you, your highness, I am very eager to see Asgard. I’ve read a great deal on your history. And, if you please, you may simply call me Frost, your highness.”

Her voice was more pleasant now. Clearer, bell like, crystalline even. So much like a delicate finger on the rim of a glass, creating a sweet, unexpected resonance.

“Frost then. And you may call me Thor.” Thor smiled brighter and stooped to take her hand for a kiss.

Upon touching her however, Thor flinched away.

“Princess,” he gasped, “your hands are like ice. Should we move somewhere warmer?”

She shook her head, sending the ornaments of her crown, hair, and earrings tinkling against one another. “No, I’m quite alright. Thank you,” she whispered, withdrawing her hand.

Thor nodded and seemingly unsure of what to say, he stepped back.

_My turn is it? Very well then._

“Forgive my appearance Princess, I was not informed we had guests,” Loki muttered, giving his most princely bow.

_Pray I don’t smell as bad as I look._

A third curtsy, eyes still to the ground. “Such things are beyond us at times your highness. It is a pleasure all the same.”

_Well, she’s certainly a polite little paper doll Freyja. But I’m not so easily taken in._

Loki also took up her hand, but unlike his brother, he followed through with the kiss to her frozen white skin. He found her eyes again, and then strangely, he saw his breath caught in the air.

Suddenly there was a wave of immense pressure in the room, and then a crack like thunder. A swirling blast of bitter cold air shook Loki and searing cold shot up his fingertips. He jerked away instinctualy but it was too late. His illusion had been dispelled and the true color of his skin crept through, up his arm and briefly ghosted over his face.

“What-what was that?” he hissed.

_Did she just attack me?_

“I could ask you the same,” called Freyja, storming closer to her daughter. “Explain this at once!”

“I’m sorry,” the princess whimpered. “I didn’t mean to...it just slipped out.”

Loki rubbed his wrist, the usual pale flesh color slowly returning. “Slipped out?”

Freyja’s lips pursed tight. “It seems we both have some explaining to do.”

“You first,” Loki growled.

Freyja turned sharply on her heel, tapping her fingers together while she chose her words.

“Frösdine is not strictly of Vanaheim,” she finally announced.

_One of your adopted children then? No surprise there._

“She is my daughter, true, but her father was of Alfheim. One with a fair amount of the old blood. She was my attempt at increasing my children’s capacity for magic. She was a resounding success in that regard, however…”

She looked to her daughter expectantly.

“Except,” spoke the princess, her voice scarcely above a whisper, “that I have almost no control over my magic. I've become quite skilled at suppressing it but...sometimes, my hold over it slips.”

Freyja sighed. “My greatest shame. The elf had a wife, a jealous one, and she plotted vengeance against me. Only, it was Frösdine who paid the price. They cursed her. They were unable to strip her of her magic, so instead they corrupted it. They froze her heart and twisted her magic into something cold and dark. They made her useless to me.”

_Cold and dark. We have more in common than I thought…_

“Vanaheim is delicate, you know it is always spring there, and because of this, she is dangerous to her people. I want her removed. This is the true reason I have offered her to you. She poses no threat to your cold mountains. This is best for everyone.”

Loki laughed “Cursed? And you expect us to take her off your hands? Are you mad?”

“I’m doing you a favor, giving you one of my precious daughters, ensuring the future of your kingdom. She is intelligent, possibly the most clever of my children. She is loyal, there is no doubt she will protect Asgard always. She is compliant, she’ll make for an obedient wife. I’ve even heard her called beautiful for an elf.  The curse on her is practically null in your realm. It’s more than a fair trade. And Asgard is no stranger to secrets. I’m curious to hear yours, Prince.

Loki gave her a rueful smile. “It's precisely as you fear my Queen.”

Freyja glared at him.

“What? You'd marry your daughter off to a traitor and a prisoner, but a frost giant is a step too far?” he mocked her.

“Then you are not Frigga’s son.” The queen’s voice was cold and hard.

Loki shrugged. “Nor Odin's, but a prince of Asgard all the same by their count. Isn't life strange?”

The princess quivered and stepped closer to her mother. “A traitor? Mother what does he mean?”

“Don't worry about it now Frösdine. You don't have to marry him. Even I'm not that cruel.”

“I don't understand, he _is_ a prince isn't he?”

“He is my son, and by law, a prince of Asgard,” Odin told the princess. “But like so many of your own children Freyja, he has been adopted into this family. He was the son of Laufey, but it no longer matters. He is my son.”

Frost stepped forwards, out of her mother’s shadow. “So marrying him would still fulfill the concordat?”

Odin nodded slightly. Slowly. “As far as Asgard is concerned, yes…”

“If it is for the peace of the nine realms, I have no objections.”

Freyja gazed quizzically at her daughter. “Are you certain Frösdine? We could write him out, you don’t have to-”

“You promised me the choice was mine, mother. Now let me make it myself.” A burst of cold air swirled through the room as Frost’s voice rose.

“Very well child. Make your marriage bed, so long as you lie in it.”

_She can’t be serious. She’d still marry a frost giant? Liar. Saving face, trying to look oh so pure hearted for the “good” brother. And the fool will fall for it, no doubt. Pathetic. They deserve each other._

Loki’s anger boiled in him, rolling in his stomach like a sea of fire.

“Well then Allfather, will you keep the accord? Your son for my daughter?”

“It would mean war otherwise?” the weary king asked.

“I would have no choice. The concordat is clear. Breaking it would mean reparations, reparations that you can not pay as you are recovering from hardship. We are both bound by it. But I know Frigga would not wish us to fight. I would like to honor her memory, if possible.”

“Then we have no choice. I will uphold our end of the agreement. One of my sons will marry your daughter.”

“And my daughter may choose?” Freyja asked.

“An impossible choice, a husband who loves another or a husband who loves only power, but she is free to make it all the same.”

_I wouldn’t marry her if she begged me on bended knee. And war with Vanaheim might be my ticket out of here, so I had best see to it Thor denies her also. Difficult from the dungeons but not necessarily impossible._

Loki smiled, a smile no one saw. 

“Father, we can’t!” Thor pleaded.

“We must! Do you think I do not know this is not good for Asgard? I know! But who is to blame? What would you have me do? This is the best we can do. This is all we can do, for Asgard.”

Odin strode towards Freyja and offered his hand. “Asgard will honor the concordat.”

Freyja shook his hand, making no efforts to hide her delight. The deal was struck. Asgard’s fate, sealed.

 


	2. Part II: Abandoned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again I am asking you to forgive me for not updating. But if you like this update I have good news for you, because THERE IS ALREADY ANOTHER CHAPTER FINISHED BAY-BE!! Lol thanks ya'll, enjoy.

A breeze ruffled the curtains. The pale sunlight playing off the leaves outside danced from one shape to the next, and the scent of freshly bloomed lilies drifted in through the open window. One of these things woke her, and yet none of these things woke her. Her heart had done it. It knew what she didn’t. 

She blinked lazily in the morning light, searching for familiar items to take their proper shapes. She could tell from the smell in the air, from the intensity of the sun, it would be a warm day. But for now it was a misty morning, and the stone floor would be cold under her feet, so she remained in bed. Not that she minded the cold. She was about to settle her head back onto her pillow and return to her dreaming, when she saw the form of her father, hunched over her dressing table.

"Papa?" she called softly. "Papa, it’s so early…"

He was startled. It seemed he thought she was still asleep. She knew she had startled him because he knocked over her bottle of mint oil and her box of hair ribbons he had been rummaging through.

"Runaiil, my sweet alfva...you were not supposed to wake," he whispered.

Her father came to her bedside, a pair of tiny golden scissors gripped between his fingers. He pet her head and hugged her to his stomach with his free arm. "Papa is sorry."

On the floor by the scattered ribbons sat a leather satchel, packed so tightly it seemed it would burst.

"Papa, are we going on a trip?" she asked. Her voice was equal parts confusion and excitement.

He shook his head."No my alfva, your papa must go alone this time. I can not take you with me, though I wish I could, with all my heart."

She could only faintly see the features of his face. It hadn’t been dark, why couldn’t she see him? Had it been the sun behind his head when he knelt down? It was simply too faint. Faded. Forgotten. All she remembered were his amber eyes and his rich dark hair. Neither of which she had inherited from him.

"Where are you going?"

"Away. To Alfheim."

"When will you be back?"

Tears filled his eyes now. Why was he crying? She didn’t ask. 

"I’m not sure Runaiil. It might not be...for a long time…"

And then, as children are apt to do, she was crying too. He smoothed her hair and wiped her eyes and spoke elvish words of love to her, but it was in vain. At the time she didn’t exactly know why she was crying, but she could not bring herself to stop. 

"Hush now Runaiil, elskan mín alfva. It’s not forever, you will see.  


As she cried into his chest, her father took a small lock of her fair hair and braided it. Once tied off with the ribbon, he took the scissors and snipped it free.

"Look here Runaiil, you see? I’ll take this with me wherever I go, that way I’ll always have a part of you with me. Now we won’t really be apart." 

But it did nothing to comfort her. "Please don’t go papa!" She begged him.

"I have no choice. It won’t be safe if I stay any longer."

His arms released her and he pulled the bed covers back over her, coaxing her to lay down again. She fought him but he sushed her sharply. His face was desperate. She had never seen him wear such an expression. It frightened her. 

"Papa has to go now little alfva, and you must stay. Stay and look after mother for me. It’s very important. Can you do that for me?"

"Yes papa," she whispered. Her tears had made her tired once again. 

He kissed her forehead and tucked her in. "Go back to dreamland little one, and don’t tell anyone you saw me. I’ll be back for you as soon as it is safe."

What he didn’t say was when. What he didn’t say was that Vanaheaim was dangerous to him because of  _ her.  _ He didn’t tell her it was all her fault. But now she knew.

And that was when the chill of her own tears on her skin woke her. But she was not on Vanaheim. The sunlight was not softly falling in her tower cell. This was Asgard, and the sun had not yet risen.

Frost wiped her tears away on the back of her arm and scanned  the room for something pleasant. There were her bed slippers, tiny, soft, wrapped in white silk and topped with bows. There were her combs, bone and antler, carved with an image of a stag and a doe. There was her leather bound journal, with pages that smelled of ink and paint and flowers. Pages smeared with charcoal finger prints. All the things that were familiar to her. Pleasant things. They did not comfort her now. She rolled on to her side and recounted the evening’s events that had left her captive yet again.    

❄❄❄    


"Sanna, Embla, let these gentlemen see their potential bride to be," ordered Freyja. " Honestly, you’re only  _ half _ elf  Frösdine."

The princess turned her face away. "Mother, please, Father wouldn't like me to ignore customs. An alfva bride doesn't show her face until the courtship has begun. It isn't proper for-"

Freyja chortled. "Nonsense, you can't expect these men to marry a girl without ever seeing her face now can you? Take it off."

"Please..."

She pulled away but Freyja caught her hand. To someone less observant, or one more concerned with being polite, it might have looked like a loving gesture, but Loki saw what it really was. Her grip was too tight. Her knuckles crunched against one another, her fingers curled, she twisted her wrist away slightly to try and avoid the pain.

Loki’s brows raised, but no one’s eyes were on him now.  

"Remove it for me, alright darling?" 

"Yes Mother..."

The two handmaids cautiously approached and gathered the long white veil that shielded the princess from the gaze of others. Well practiced at the task, they flung the fabric over the points of the crown on top of her head. They rolled the fabric at the edges slightly to keep it from falling loose again. The crown was actually a combination of a silver and blue silk brocade hat with a scalloped brim, paired with a silver diadem, dripping with strands of beads and jewels. 

When the handmaidens stepped away, Frösdine's face was visible at last.

Soft and white like fresh powder snow was her skin, and glimmering in spots, as if the sun were shining on it. Her hair mirrored this effect, white, dull, and dusted with the same glittering effect. She had high cheekbones and small plump lips, both of which were slightly tinted blue. Her narrow eyes were clouded with a swarm of emotions. Wet sadness, cold anger, and something that must have been embarrassment. They were no set shade of blue, but rather seemed to be many vying for dominance. Her thick eyelashes resembled frost coated blades of grass. White. Frozen in place. Both the lashes and the blue tinted lids were coated in what appeared to be a fine layer of ice crystals. These gleamed brightest of all. 

_ This is her curse then? This is powerful dark magic indeed. _

The tinge of blue in her skin swam through her entire body. It could be seen faintly in the curve of her collar bone, in the tiny veins in her neck. Any more vibrant and she could have been part frost giant herself.

Thor cleared his throat and tried not to stare. He had seen stranger, Loki was sure, and he knew his brother, though dull, was not vain. No, Thor was not anymore put off by her visage than he, he only feared that to stare would imply shock, and therefore judgment. He wanted to be polite.

But Loki didn't care for polite at the moment. Loki stared. Staring meant studying, and studying meant victory, though, he did not yet know what battle he was fighting. Only that she would undoubtedly be his enemy. He had no allies.

Her elvish features were easy enough to spot. A thin elegant nose, pointed ears, and a lithe and graceful frame. She had a high arching brow and a sharp jawline that spoke to their natural nobility. The light elves were older and wiser than even the gods, so old that only the elder Vanir knew how to reach their realm, but Loki remembered their images in childhood story books. Compared to the elves he had seen most recently, she  _ was _ pretty for an elf.

"What do you think? She's useless at spellcraft beyond creating ice...but it  _ does _ make her look exotic I suppose. Well, maybe not to an Asgardian, hum? You see snow here often enough..."

Frost turned her face away, as if ashamed, but said nothing.

No one else spoke either, but Freyja didn't seem to notice. "Now then, introductions out of the way, call in a witness to enact the contract. We'll have it finished and done with and then I can pay my respects to dear Frigga with a lighter heart."

"Hold Freyja, there are clauses in there I should like to review. Let us examine the contract together once more," said Odin smoothing his beard in agitation.

Freyja folded her arms over her chest with a sigh. "Very well then. Children, why don't you run along. We’ll manage on our own here."

"Father?" Thor pleaded. 

"Go," Odin barked. "Go and show the girl Asgard, like you promised. I will stay here and see to it that the contract is fulfilled, as I promised."

Thor sighed. "Very well. And Loki?"

_ Yes, what of Loki? _

Loki cleared his throat. "In light of the circumstances, I think it would be best if simply return to my quarters."

As much as he would have liked to stay and observe the situation as it unfolded, he knew appearing too eager or interested was unwise for his scheming.

Odin gave him a harsh yet relieved look. 

"That, I think, would be best."

❄❄❄

The Enojar did not restrain Loki, but rather escorted him out in tight ranks. 

When he finally disappeared from sight Thor cleared his throat to speak. "Well then. Shall we princess?"

He offered her his arm and braced himself for the chill of her touch. 

Frost merely bowed her head and gingerly took his arm. 

Once outside the war room, the mysterious princess suddenly stopped and withdrew her arm. 

Thor, now two paces ahead of her, turned to look back at her. "Princess?" he questioned.

He thought she might be preparing to make a snide remark about her mother, or his own father, maybe even Loki. The contract? Himself? 

Instead she simply replaced the veil over her face before returning her hands to their neatly clasped position in front of her. 

"Lead on your highness," she beckoned almost sweetly. 

Thor couldn't help but chuckle at her modesty. She was certainly a shy, demure thing.

 "Tell me what would you like to see? The palace? The city? There should be light enough to admire the gardens if you like."

"A garden stroll would be lovely. What with traveling so far, I should like to stretch my legs." There was an accent to her speech, French Midguardians would call it. 

"This way my lady," he said, extending his arm towards the west hall. 

For a while they walked in tense silence. The sort of silence Thor had never been good at breaking. Only the rustle of her gown and the soft patter of her slippers answered the tromp of his boots. Then the silence began to feel rude.

"This is your first time is Asgard, is that right princess?"

"No," she murmured shyly, "I've been once before, when I was very very young. If I'm  not mistaken, it was near the day of your birth, Prince Thor. The birth of Odin's first son was cause enough to bring mother. I remember your little golden cradle."

Thor chuckled somewhat nervously. "That long ago? Forgive my asking, but how many years are you princess?"

She thought a moment. "Perhaps some odd 3,000 years. I can’t be certain, I have long since stopped counting them."

"3,000 years, truly? Well...that puts you a fair bit over myself, but you look so young...Tell me, is this the doing of Idun’s apples then? I have heard they are still eaten in Vanaheim."

"Partially perhaps, though I have long abstained from them now. Elves age differently you see," she answered. 

Thor hummed thoughtfully. She made for a delightfully polite conversationalist, if nothing else. 

"Seems odd, you being my elder. You don’t seem it at all."

"In numerals only I assure you. I was a child likely for much much longer than you were. A few hundred years. By elvish standards I’m scarcely of age  _ now _ . Though, we don’t know for certain my lifespan due to the mixing of blood. I’m the first half elf born in well over a millennium. I suppose no one truly knows their lifespan though, isn’t that so?"

Thor nodded. 

The golden gates of the western gardens came into view at the end of the paved pathway. There was no lock or bolt as the gate wasn’t meant to keep anyone out, but rather there for the added beauty. It also provided a good structure for ivy and climbing flowers, of which the garden had many. 

Thor opened the gate and guided Frost down the steps into the garden. Differing from the eastern garden’s abundant flower beds and well maintained shrubbery, the west garden held mostly fruit trees and fountains. The center of the garden featured the grandest fountain surrounded by a winding walkway enclosed beneath a tree canopy. The gravel path was narrow, it forced two to walk close to one another. The sort of place young lovers would wander whispering sweet nothings and sharing secret kisses. The sort of place romance was apt to blossom as easily as the flowers. But romance was not his intent, and Thor now felt silly for bringing the princess here.

Frost didn’t seem interested in paying him any mind however. Instead she wandered on ahead, drawn immediately to a fruit tree that was still in bloom.

"This tree," she spoke, reaching out to touch its trunk, "I recognize it."

Thor approached and bent the blossoms down so that Frost could admire them. "A dennelza. From Nidavellir I think. Have you been?"

"Never. This is only the second time I have ever left Vanaheim. I’ve scarcely ever left the palace grounds."

Frost lifted her veil and sniffed the flowers. Her nose wrinkled from the tickle of the pollen but she smiled all the same. 

"Is that so? I’ve seen several of the realms for myself now. Is it that you dislike travel?" Thor asked her.

"Oh no, not at all. I’ve always wished to see more of the realms, it’s only that...well, it isn’t permitted."

Frost stepped onto the loose stone path beneath the trees and Thor followed. 

"Not permitted?"

Frost’s face fell slightly. "It’s dangerous, you see."

"Ah," Thor exclaimed, nodding in understanding. "Because you are royalty, yes, I suppose that is reason to be cautious."

She laughed curtly. "No, your highness, I am not the one in danger. I  _ am _ the danger. My curse. So you see, traveling is not permitted."

Thor scratched his beard, a little embarrassed he had overlooked that point. They walked in silence for a while. 

Thor found himself wondering what on earth his father could have been thinking all those years ago, signing that contract. How were they to ever welcome outsiders to the throne? His father, such a proud man, forced down so easily. This was not how he wished to leave the throne, and the shame of it would cause him much grief. What could he hope to do to bring comfort to him? He knew not. For now,  _ this  _ was what his father needed of him. To keep the princess occupied while he worked out a plan. 

"Well," Thor said, "I imagine you should be quite excited to see Asgard then. Perhaps my saying so is unfair, but it is a beautiful place. Her people are hearty and good, as is the ale."

The princess giggled into her palm. "Is that so? To tell the truth I am more interested in your rich history than the quality of your drink, your highness."

"You really  _ aren’t _ from Asgard," he told her with a smile. "And as I said, Thor will do well enough. I’m not really accustomed to such formality these days."

She gave a little bow of her head. "As you wish. But you did call me 'princess' first."

"Ah, yes, well, my apologies prin-- Frost," He corrected himself. 

The daylight was bleeding away quickly now, the sky scarcely visible beyond the trees giving away to delicate pinks and dusky orange. Soon the garden would become a treacherous place for the lack of light, but there was time yet.

“This one. Silver Split Elm, is it not?” Frost asked, examining the leaves of another tree.

“I'm afraid I couldn't tell you, I am, apparently,  not as knowledgeable on the matter as you are.”

Frost hummed thoughtfully before snapping a leaf off the tree and depositing in inside some hidden pocket of her robes.

I know all the trees in my gardens. Know them each by name.”

“Do you study plants then?” Thor asked her, genuinely curious.

Her head lifted and she met his gaze for the first time. Her soft blue eyes glittered with suppressed excitement. 

"I study everything I can. Botany, history, architecture, poetry. All through books, of course."

At that omission, the light wicked from her eyes and her gaze dropped again. 

"I see. I admit I don't read much myself," Thor confided. 

"But you have seen things, no doubt. First hand experience is invaluable," she assured him. "I would have much preferred to study these things in person had I been able. Instead, books became very good friends to me."

"That I have."

And what would become of Loki? If he married her? If he didn’t? Could he really skip away to Vanaheim a free man, even after all he had done? Then he would have the run of two realms all to himself. The princess couldn’t hope to keep him in check, though, Freyja might be. What would be his fate if he remained on Asgard? A prisoner for the rest of his days? Thor was certain he would not be able to bear the burden of keeping his brother captive were it left to him to uphold. And releasing him might prove more dangerous than extraditing him ever could be.    

"What is it you like then Thor?" chirped the princess. Her smile seemed strained. 

_ Am I already boring her I wonder? _

"I’m afraid I’m not so interesting. I like to fight and I like to drink, like any Asgardian. I find learning a joyful pursuit, but not one of my strengths I’m afraid."

"You said you have traveled. Where to?"

"Well, Vanaheim of course, to help your people clear the raiders and rebels. Jotunheim, briefly. Svartalheim too. And I have spent a fair amount of time on midgard as of late."

The princess nodded, a wave of excitement coming over her. She was either very good at faking emotions, or very bad at hiding them. 

"I had heard something of that," she said, stopping to examine another tree. "You were exiled there once before weren’t you?"

Thor laughed and pretended to polish a smudge from his bracer. "I was, yes. For a short while."

"Asta said you certainly must have done something quite bad to anger the Allfather so terribly."

"Unfortunately, my father is quick to such anger regardless. But yes, I did make a fairly grave mistake. And now I’m old enough to see the wisdom in what my father did. I do wish things had ended differently though."

The princess tilted her head, as if indicating she was listening. "Oh?"

Thor sighed. "Loki. His trouble began then. His real trouble. I still don’t fully understand what his motivations truly were. Or his goals for that matter. But it started him down a much darker path in life, and as you can see, we have yet to successfully walk him back."

"I see," she replied.

They had reached the center of the garden and stood at the edge of the great fountain. At it’s top it featured a milkmaid and her goat. Thor could not tell if the sun had set or not. Here the canopy of trees was too thick to see beyond. Here they were no longer Prince and Princess keeping up pleasantries for political gain. Here they were simply two strangers.  

"I sense this subject causes you true grief, Prince Thor. You care for your brother a great deal," Frost said.

"Aye. I do."

She turned to face him and for the first time since meeting her, the oppressive chill that emanated from her seemed to dissipate. Her white hair and her eyes, ever so slightly obscured by her veil, somehow gave her the illusion of wisdom as she spoke.

"If it would be any comfort to you, I don’t believe your brother is lost to you yet. So long as you love him, I’m sure there is hope."

Thor frowned, though not in anger. He hadn’t expected such sentmental words from a stranger. He had grown accustomed to the empty words of nobles, telling them how they felt empathy for the status of his brother. They were easy enough to detect. He could read them on the speaker’s lips before they ever left their mouth. 

Her words felt too heavy to be empty. 

"I thank you Lady Frost."

She smiled as him and laughed. Thor could see the white puffs of her breath float through the air as they sputtered out of her.

"What is it?"

"It’s silly," she said with a shake of her head. "It’s just, I can’t remember the last time someone thanked me for something. Isn’t that strange?"

Thor broke out in a half grin "A bit, yes."

She sighed and began to circle the fountain, admiring the stone work in incredible detail. 

"It’s beautiful," she said, reaching out and touching the milkmaid’s delicate ankle. A thin layer of ice crept over her marble skin and the princess retracted her hand.

"Yes, it is," Thor replied, watching as the ice rapidly melted away.

Frost then sat herself upon the edge of the fountain and stared down at the ever rippling water. "You don’t seem frightened of me. Why not?"

Thor laughed. "Would you like me to be?"

"No. I’m just surprised. Very few who meet me are not."

Thor wandered among the flowering trees, stopping to admire one from Midgard. "I have met a man whose rage and fear can turn him into a terrifying powerful beast, as if by magic. That man is also very kind and very intelligent. He helps people. I have met a mortal woman who can move as quietly as a shadow and can strike as deadly as a serpent. That woman does terrible things for the ones she loves. I know a man who built a vast fortune upon death and destruction wrought by weapons he created. Now he makes armor to protect the world."

Thor snapped a flower off the tree. Fat and waxy, and butter yellow, Jane had liked them. A Magnolia she had called it. Thor turned and approached Frost, offering the flower to her. "Each of them have powers that are frightening and deadly. Some of them even struggle to control their abilities as you do, but each of them have become my good friends. I see no reason why I should fear you, when befriending you seems much more enjoyable."

The princess tittered nervously, and Thor thought he might have seen her blush beneath her veil. She plucked the flower from his hand and sniffed it. "You should like to be my friend then?"

Her touch had scarcely been cold at all. 

So strange this scene must have looked to an outsider. The very image of courtly love. The maiden, the fountain, the gifting of a single bloom that paled in comparison to her beauty. The scene poets wrote of over and over. How much like young lovers they must appear. But there was no love here. There was apprehension, vulnerability, and even the warmth of kindness, but no love. Thor was not capable of it, even if he had wanted to be, for the sake of Asgard. For his father. But friendship he could offer with ease and offer in earnest. Such kindness cost nothing, and could gain one everything, after all.

Thor shrugged. "One way or another, it seems you will soon be family. We may as well endeavor to get along. Does that please you?"

"Yes, I think I should like that very much," she said softly. Her voice shook as if she might weep.. 

"Then we shall be friends, Frost," Thor beamed. 

She smiled back and nodded. "I have not had a friend in a very long time. Besides Asmund I suppose...."

Thor sat beside her. "Asmund? A friend from Vanaheim?"

"Yes. My oldest and dearest friend," she gushed. Then the joy drained from her face and she averted her gaze to her feet. "My only friend really."

She turned and dipped her fingers into the fountain. She released the flower and set it afloat on the pool’s surface. This time she left no ice behind. Thor was beginning to grasp that Frösdine was a very lonely girl, which was exceptionally touching to him. He who had always had so many friends.  

"I’m sure you will miss them terribly. I am sorry you will be apart."

"Oh, no, I could never leave him behind. Asmund is here with me."

Thor raised his brow. "Oh? I’m surprised, your mother didn’t say anything about us having another guest."

"That’s because Asmund is not a guest," she giggled out. "Not exactly. Asmund is my guardian and my dear friend, true, but you see, Asmund is my bird."

Thor laughed softly. "Oh, a pet."

"Asmund would not agree."

"What sort of bird?" Thor asked her. "It must be quite a fearsome creature if you would charge it with your protection."

"Oh yes, he most certainly is! His wingspan must be every bit as wide as I am tall. In Vanaheim we once called them Hjarta-eta, Heart Eaters. Myths say once long ago our ancestors feared them as they were much larger and were said to use their beaks to pierce men’s chests and peck out their hearts in one go. I’m not sure when the name changed exactly, but at some point we began to call them Harpies."    

"Surely they couldn’t be as large as our fjǫðrkǫttr?"

"Ah, you mean the feather cats of your mountain caves. I’ve studied them in great detail. No I do not think the Hjarta-eta were ever so large that they could be ridden by men. Not that your feather cats really can either. No one is fool enough for that. No, our Harpies today are much smaller, probably due to over hunting. From what I have been able to gather from books, they are very much like your Rock-Beak Falcons that nest in the forests at your mountain bases." 

She sounded very much like Jane then, knowledge spilling out of her like an over filled wine cup, eyes eager and as bright as stars. He missed her terribly, but it was endearing to meet someone who could remind him of her this way. He grinned at her.    

"You weren’t lying when you said you loved your books I see. I should like to meet him, your Asmund. Perhaps tomorrow?"

Frost bowed her head slightly. "If it should please you. I warn you, he is dubious of strangers."

"Oddly enough, you aren’t," Thor commented.

She gave an almost sly smile and lowered her gaze as if to play coy. "That’s where you are wrong Prince Thor. Nearly everyone is a stranger to me. Even my own brothers and sisters. So you see, the truth is, I’m simply dubious of everyone. I am merely cunning enough to hide it well."

Thor gave a single handed shrug. "I suppose there are benefits to erring on the side of caution. Allfather knows that is a lesson I had to learn the hard way."

Frost nodded. Her smile seemed both wise and sad.

"So I take it you like animals then?" Thor asked the princess.  

She nodded. "Oh yes, they are fascinating are they not? So many fearsome features and exquisite shapes. Nowhere is there more beauty than in nature."

"I am very curious about your winged horses, can they truly carry that carriage? I can’t imagine it is possible."

"They can, though not strictly by their own power, the carriage is enchanted with their feathers you see, and…"

❄❄❄

The sun had long set by the time Thor led Frost out of the garden and into the palace. Though she had had no particular desire to be escorted, she found herself clinging to the prince’s arm all the same. Perhaps it was for fear of falling, or perhaps it was simply of the darkness. There was something inherently unsettling about darkness in new places. That was most likely the reason she could not find sleep now.

The mood in the war room had grown no less tense in their absence, but neither Freyja nor Odin had killed the other, so it was presumed negotiations were at a close. Frost was able to do little else but give Thor a quick bow before she was whisked away by the handmaidens trailing behind her mother.

Dinner was hosted with no more celebratory atmosphere than a funeral. Odin, Thor, her mother and she ate in near perfect silence, apart from the sounds of knives on plates. She had been redressed again, her mother demanded it. "It was the proper way," she had said.

Frost scarcely dressed once in a day, let alone three. She had no one to dress for. She took meals alone, she walked the garden once a week, alone. It had seemed beyond absurd to her to see gown after gown packed away for her stay in Asgard. Most she had not worn but once, if that. They were lovely to look at at the very least.

Prince Thor, ancestors bless him, had tried to make conversation, but Frost found it difficult to speak freely with her mother’s smugness filling up the room. Everyone choked on it but her. It seemed so unjust. 

She made a few shy attempts to reply to him at first, then she merely nodded, then the boy stopped trying. The food was rich and flavorful, bedecked with herbs and spices. It almost smelled good enough to distract her from the oppressive cloud of dread that hung over the room. It felt as if her chair sat at the edge of a cliff, and any moment she might topple over the side into the murky abyss. Delicious it may have been, but it remained on her plate.

When the meal ended it was customary for the wine goblets to be refilled. Everyone declined in favor of departing the room as quickly as possible. Frost caught Thor’s eyes as they stood from the long table. He looked apologetic so she smiled at him. She hoped he understood she felt the same. Then they went their separate ways.  

As a servant girl guided Frost and her mother back to their suite of rooms, Freyja took hold of her arm, pulling her towards her own room. The cold in her blood rose up in to her throat, accompanied by a sharp pain in her chest. She pushed it down.

"So tell me, how was the prince dear daughter?" her mother asked. 

"Well. He seems to be in fine health and good spirits."

Freyja’s grip tightened.

"That is not what I meant. Do not presume to play the fool with me."

A small spark of pain traveled through Frost’s arm, but she did not flinch or wince. Freyja, goddess of love, goddess of beauty. No one ever seemed to remember she was also the goddess of war. Goddess of death. Frost never forgot. She remained cold.

"Then I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean mother."

"Will he  _ marry  _ you?" she hissed, half in anger, half so the servants could not hear her.

A shiver ran down Frost's back, but she did not shake. "He said before he would not."

"Can you change his mind?"

A tiny smile flickered across Frost’s face. She shooed it away as she shook her head and again became somber. "He loves another," she answered.

Freyja gave up a haughty laugh as she pushed open the door to her chambers.

"With a mortal my dear. How long do you think she will hold his attention? A century is the most she could ever hope for. I doubt it will be that long."

Freyja flopped gracefully onto a couch and removed her shoes. Frost remained standing. She stared at the beading on the hem of her gown.

I don’t think he will be so easily swayed," she whispered.

"So what do you plan to do about it?"

She remained silent.

Freyja sighed and shook her head. "Well, you had best figure it out quickly. I would like to know our plan before I make my way home."

"Home? What do you mean?"

The cold rushed out of Frost’s skin as fear flooded in.

"Home, to Vanaheim dear. Have you gone deaf, or daft?"

"We’re...going home? We only just arrived…"

Freyja shook her head, smirking. "No. Not we.  _ Me _ .  _ I _ am going.  _ You _ are staying."

Frost glared at her mother, speechless.

"What?" Freyja asked with a short laugh. "Did you think I was going to stay here for the duration of your little match making game? Please dear."

 "You mean you’re leaving me here? Alone?" Frost nearly shouted, her delicate hands balled into fists.

"You can’t expect me to stay here, I do have a kingdom to run after all," her mother retorted, fanning herself with a feather hand fan. 

"But you can’t just leave me behind like this! I don’t know these people, their customs, their ways, I...what if they do not keep their word? Take me hostage? Something worse..."

Freyja laughed. "You are  _ so  _ dramatic Frösdine. That’s your father in you, no doubt about that. I’m sure you will be just fine here on your own. There’s no call for all these--these theatrics, honestly..."

"But mother, I-"

"Do you think that someone will be there to hold your hand once you are queen?" Freyja snapped, pointing her fan at her daughter. "There will only be so much I can do for you from Vanaheim. You had best learn to keep your own head above water while you’re still in the shallows girl."

"Odin is furious," Frost whispered. "He doesn’t want me here. He doesn’t want to lose his kingdom. Neither does Thor. You think I am stupid, blind to these things because you've kept me away from so much, but I see them mother. Do you honestly believe I am safe here alone?"

"Odin is a man of honor. For the most part. I am not concerned."

"What if he isn’t?"

Freyja stood from her seat, frowning down at her daughter. "I am  _ not _ concerned."

"Because I am an acceptable loss," Frost spat.

"Not  _ yet _ you aren’t," Freyja cooed. She stroked Frost’s cheek and smiled at her.

Tears of anger welled up in Frost’s eyes and turned solid on her cheeks. Abandoned. Stranded. At the mercy of Asgard. So be it.  

"Very well. I shall stay."

"That’s a good girl," Freyja purred, stroking Frost’s cheek again. 

Frost suddenly snared her mother’s wrist and pulled her hand away. An icy gust of wind caused the candles in the room to flicker.         

"But know this mother," Frost said in a chilling whisper. "go back on your word to me...and you shall learn just how _ cold _ I can be."

Freyja stared at her in slack jawed shock.

 "Betray me, and you, and all of Vanaheim, will be reduced to a frozen wasteland. There will be no mercy this time. Have I made myself clear?"

The sound of ice creaking and cracking filled the room as the floor beneath their feet froze over. Freyja jerked her hand free of Frost’s grasp and rubbed her wrist. She opened her mouth as if to reprimand her, but seemed to change her mind at the last moment. 

"Good to see you still have some conviction left in you Frösdine. You’ll need that strength to pull this off. Deliver me Asgard, and I’ll keep my word." 

Frost bowed and turned on her heel to leave. Ice and snow trailed in her wake.

❄❄❄

Tears dried, mind wandering, she picked at her teeth. The venison had been tough and fatty, no matter how well seasoned. Perhaps fowl would agree with her better. She was little concerned with her dining experience anyway. She pulled herself from the plush feather bed and felt the hair tangled at the back of her neck. She instinctively made for her combs and made herself presentable. Her father and mother had both always insisted she look presentable as possible. 

Though the room was not warm, she craved the cool night air, and wandered to the window. It opened with ease, no locks or bolts or ice keeping it clamped shut. Her windows at home did not do that. A light breeze fluttered in, not even strong enough to blow her hair, and from somewhere nearby she could hear the rush of water. She could see a great deal from such a height, and yet, so very little. There were boats, and houses, and the flicker of flames, as small as a candle’s from where she stood. There was something unsettling about darkness in new places. Darkness be damned.

The door to her tower was never locked, nor had this one been. Asgard was cold, not nearly as cold as Frost could endure, but colder than Vanaheim. Though far from chilled, a dressing gown over her night dress felt appropriate. In this, and her slippers, Frost ventured into the halls of the palace. She took no candle or torch light, no where in the common areas was dark enough to require it. Asgard took their "palace of gold" quite literally, and what was not golden was lit by golden light. It was not rosey and fragrant Vanaheim, with her pure white stone work and her open air corridors. No it was not. 

Frost walked and walked, passing entirely the suite of rooms set aside for her and her mother. Past a second suit. Past a great curved stair. A tapestry hung here, of dark dreary green and brown. It depicted Jörmungandr biting his tail, eyes lifelessly emoting something that was both dull fear and senseless rage. Every bit the dumb hound that had caught it’s tail and didn’t know its next move. There was little else at play, waves and waves and waves. Stitched almost endlessly on top of one another. It was clearly fantastically well made, but that didn’t keep the piece from being ugly.  

Frost sighed and passed it by. "I do hope all their art is not so...underwhelming."   

 The palace was exceedingly quiet. It seemed so wrong. The architecture, the design, the cheery brasiers along the walls, everything about it seemed to call for singing and trumpets and debauched merry making. The way Asgardians did everything else. Peace and quiet was off putting at best. She almost hoped a fight would break out. But then she retracted that sentiment.

She continued down the hall, that seemed it might never end, eventually coming to another staircase. This time, she felt the urge to descend. The cool stone of the hand rail under her palm sparked within her a sudden memory. The sense of wandering the unknown, never feeling lost, it  was something she knew well. She had no name for the sensation, it was a knowing, without knowing. It was knowing everything would be okay, that the path she walked was the right one, even if she didn’t know why she walked it, or where she would end up. It was her innermost self calling to her. Leading her.

This might seem strange to the people of Asgard, but people in Vanaheim it was common. Seeres, sorcerers, witches, they had many names. It is more than mere magic. Different than her ice or her mother’s shapeshifting. This was something that couldn’t be taught. The gift also had many names, Luck, intuition, she called it "the guide". It had different uses, scrying, viewing the future, and this. Whatever this was. This sense of being led down a fortunate path. Or, at the very least, an exciting one.  

She descended three floors and though the guide beckoned her lower, she found she could go no lower there. The stairs to the ground floor were elsewhere. The decor changed here, gold turned to darker bronze, and gray stone was used. The white and black marble had been exchanged for dark green and soft gray. Her silk slippered feet were silent as she wandered the halls, perfect for sneaking past guards, though she hadn’t seen any.

So few patrols. I wonder why?

She thought it curious security would be so lax after the incident with the dark elves. 

_ And with strangers in the castle too. You think they would learn. _

But perhaps her guide was taking her this way on purpose. To avoid the patrols. 

_ I wonder why… _

Frösdine passed archway after archway, well into the east side of the castle now. She dreaded the thought it would take her to Thor’s door. A lover’s liaison in the middle of the night. Absolutely not. What would she say to him? But the thought passed. The guide called, and she always followed.

The stairs she found to the ground floor were not the main stairs, nor were they even secondary stairs. The stairs she found were small and narrow and winding. Around and around they spiraled, so tight she quickly grew dizzy. A servants stair most likely, made to discreetly transport dishes and cleaning supplies. Her palace had no such stairs, beyond her tower. At last, the spinning darkness opened up into a small room, and through it she could see the grand foyer. She carefully padded into the room. There were, she imagined, always guards posted here, so she was surprised to find it empty.

"Maybe I’m dreaming," she muttered to herself, turning her head back and gazing up at the pillar heads.  Odin and Bor, and his father before him, and his father before him. They glared down at her with stern stone faces. Odin still had two eyes. She was not long in her admiration when she heard footsteps descending the main stairs.

**_There_ ** _ are the guards. _

She waited to watch them enter, they wouldn’t notice her standing in the shadow. She was too still and too quiet. And if they did, what would they do? Nothing, she was a guest. Still, she hid, and they passed her by. She was prepared to follow them, but the guide called her back, down to the spiral stairs. Lower into the building. 

For the first time in a very long time, Frost hesitated to follow the little voice calling to her. She knew now where the voice was pulling her. Where she would end up. But that was not what gave her pause. Do delve into dungeons dark and deep, where all manner of foul and dangerous brute was kept prisoner. This would give most anyone second thoughts. But this was not what worried Frost. What worried her was the fact that she was eager. Excited. Her heart quickened with exhilaration and she clutched her robe to her chest as if to slow it. Why should she feel enticed by danger she could not fathom.  

"Where are you taking me little friend," she asked the voice, knowing it could not answer.  

For this  _ was  _ the dungeon she was set to enter. The light here dimmed, the stone grew colder and mildly damp beneath her hand. There were no doors or gates to bar her entrance, only the einherjar standing watch. 

Still the voice called to her, beckoned her inside, its goal now obvious to her. For what purpose could it have lured her here, other than to meet with the dishonored prince. 

_ Very well then.  _

Frost silently descended the final stairs, a shimmer passing through her hands. She approached the guards, unseen, and blew a light flurry of snow over them.

"You do not see me, or hear me," she whispered to them. "Everything in the dungeon is quiet, just as it should be. When I leave, the spell will be broken."

The guards did not react to her words, nor did they at all perceive her drift past them into the dungeon proper. 

There was a level of opulence, even here. The stone, not polished, but smooth and clean. The cells, large, though some were crowded. They were open faced, like glass cages. And in one of them waited the trickster, Loki.

❄❄❄


	3. Part III:Imprisoned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, few days behind schedule, but that's because the ending is bad and I couldn't find anyone to help me fix it. Feel free to flame me hard. Peace.

Loki lay in silent, still contemplation. Somewhere above him a foreign queen plotted for a second throne. Supporting her plot might serve him for a time, but he was not about to give up what should rightfully go to him. Not to her. 

The dungeon was often drafty, even chilly at night, but it suddenly felt much colder, breaking him free of his thoughts. 

Loki rose to a seated position and listened down the hall. He heard nothing but the soft crackle of the torches burning. Then there was a gust of strong wind, and the chill in the air spiked yet again. Not that it bothered Loki at all.  

_ Surely not... _

When the wind died down there was a new sound. Soft, nearly imperceptible, came the pad of what must have been feet. Not the boots of an Asgardian. Dainty, light, perhaps slippered in silk.

_ This should be interesting. _

And with a subtle wave of his hand he and his belongings vanished within his cell.

The soft sound, now unmistakably footsteps, slowly grew louder. Then the wispy image of a woman appeared. Pale, and in a scandalous state of undress, she seemed a ghost wandering the halls, but the footsteps gave her away as the Vanir princess, Frösdine. 

She passed him by, drifting down the row of cells, searching. If any of the other prisoners noticed her, they gave no signs of it. What was she looking for? Him?

She was almost beyond Loki's view from where he stood in his cell, so he carefully moved closer to the window to watch her. He was certain he had made no sound, gave no reason to be noticed, but the princess stopped in her tracks and turned heel. As she wandered her way back towards his cell, he could see her eyes, carefully searching.

_ She knows I'm here...Interesting indeed. _

Slowly, she passed the cells surrounding his own, pausing at each one, placing her hand on the viewing surface. Feeling them out somehow. Eventually she stopped at his cell, her eyes ghosting over him blindly. Here she remained.  

"I know you sense me, though I know you cannot see me. " Loki called out, amused by her skill.  “How?”

"Magic is in my very nature, it is not you I sense, but your spell," she answered him, placing her other hand on the glass. 

She searched the room for a moment longer, then at last met his gaze head on.

"There." 

Loki frowned. He would have liked to think he was rather accomplished with his spellcraft, and would have been harder to find than this. This was, however, the most interesting thing that had happened in weeks, and his smile soon returned.

"I know you are there, Prince Loki. Won't you meet me now?"

With a slight grin and a short wave of his hand, Loki's form slowly came bleeding into view, along with the rest of the contents of his cell. The princess's face shifted ever so slightly, a proud little smile perhaps?

“It seems the witches of Vanaheim are still on a level well above my own. How disappointing for myself,” he said, not bothering to greet her.

“You needn't take it so personally your Highness, both Vanir and Elven kind are born seers. I have an unfair advantage, being both.”

She gave a polite curtsey. Without her regal vestments and her imposing mother, she seemed almost another person. Her hair and her face, though they still glittered with the magic ice, were much plainer now. No less alluring, but less godly perhaps. At least he could feel slightly less embarrassed about his own dishevelled appearance now. 

She was small, but seemed all the more so without her flowing robes and crown. Rather, she was tall, long legged, but made herself seem small. She kept her posture tucked, timid. Her eyes, so severe without the barrier of her veil. Her delicate demeanor triggered something inside Loki, hot and volatile. Rage. He knew not why.

“Tell me, have you already finished your nuptials?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You and my brother. No doubt you're already hopelessly in love. Am I correct?”

“You are mistaken. We are not so entangled. Nor does he have any desire to marry me.”

“For now perhaps...but I'm sure you have ways to change that. Some plan to change his mind.”

"You misunderstand. I'm not here with any such plan. I've no nefarious purpose." She bowed herself even lower.

Usually such placative gestures appeased him. Pleased him even. But to see her all but cower before him, it did nothing but turn his stomach.  

Loki sighed. “A pity. I'd have preferred you to be nefarious as opposed to boring. Freyja's clueless pawn after all.”

The princess's face hardened. "My deepest apologies, it was not my intention to  _ bore  _ you your Highness. I shall let you return to your pressing business."

She bowed, as stately as she had before, and turned to leave.

_ Doesn't seem she's easily rattled. Not as timid as she seems perhaps... _

Loki would have been content enough to let her disappear down the hall, but if he was being honest with himself, he  _ was _ dreadfully bored.

"The apologies are mine to make, Princess," he called after her. "I am being a poor host, and you  _ are _ a guest here after all. Will you allow me to try again?"

The princess stopped and turned to look at him over her shoulder. She appeared both amused and skeptical.

"Tell me, just how did you get past the guards? I doubt you froze them in place...as effective as that might have been."

He might have been wrong, but Loki thought he might have seen a brief smile flicker over the princess's face as she turned and walked back to his cell.

"I might not be able to use magic like my mother, but you aren't the only one capable of crafting a simple charm, Your Highness."

Loki chuckled. "So formal. No one calls me by my rightful title anymore, not even the servants."

"You  _ are _ still a prince yes? So I should call you as such."

"Depending on who you ask..."

She took a moment to pull her hair around to lay over one shoulder. As she did so, her bed robe shifted and she set about straightening it.

"My sister Asta said there had been rumors of your incarceration...As well as your death. If I may ask, how is it you came to be here? And quite clearly not dead?" she asked after she had settled herself.

Loki felt his muscles tense with fury, but he swallowed down his bitterness as best he could and tried to appear calm. "I made a mistake," he told her.

The princess laughed. Nervous and surprised, but not without humor.

"Yes, I can  _ see _ that much. I was hoping you might have a bit more light to shed the situation than that."

Loki hesitated. He had no reason to tell this stranger anything. He gazed down at her. She seemed so perfectly detached, as if she practiced it. No judgement in her eyes, only the gentle glow of beauty that accompanies purity. So what harm was there in humoring her?

"It's a long story," he warned her. "Not one I will share entirely."

The girl glanced down the hall to the left, then to the right. "It would seem you have the time," she ribbed him. "Tell me what you will."

Loki paced to the left of his cell. If nothing else then for the drama of it. 

"It's all my brother's fault. More or less. He nearly threw us into war with Jotunheim. Granted, I started the tension between them, but I had a carefully laid plan in store. A plan Thor  _ ruined _ when he stormed into Jotunheim and attacked King Laufey. Odin was so furious he cast Thor out of Asgard. Banished him to Midgard. The stress of it was so great it caused him to fall into the Odinsleep, leaving me in charge of the whole mess."

"A mess of your own making."

Loki glared at her.

"So, you were practically King, how is it you ended yourself down here?"

Loki folded his arms over his chest. "Yes, I suppose it does seem rather remarkable one can go from king to war criminal quite so quickly."

"So how did you?"

"I was betrayed," he spat. "Treason. Thor's jolly little troupe of playmates. They disobeyed my direct orders, unjustly usurped me, undermined me. I had to put my foot down. I did the only thing I thought would restore order. Desperate times and all..."

He looked up to see if the girl's face had changed at all. Listening to his story, judging him. It hadn't. It hadn't changed one bit. Icy, cool, she simply listened.

"I sent the Destroyer for Thor and the traitors, and tried to use the Bifrost to destroy Jotunheim. End the war before it began. But Odin woke from his slumber, and he could not see my reason." 

He felt cold himself as he spoke those words. The fire had long died out of his rage. It was now a hard immovable object buried inside him. It was almost what one might call acceptance.

"And?" she prompted.

Loki shrugged. "And in the end, I fell from the Bifrost."

"But, they recovered you?"

"Not hardly."

Loki closed his eyes and felt the cold darkness of the abyss rush up to meet him.

"I tire of this."

"But you haven't explained why you're here."

"I-"

He felt venom and bile rising up inside him. He had the urge to scream at her, to frighten her. How dare she ask so many questions. What did it matter how it happened? It happened. It was done.

_ I had no choice. _

"I owed a debt," he whispered. "At least, I did in someone else's eyes. To repay it, they wanted me to take Midgard. I never discovered the full extent of their reasoning, but being in no position to bargain, I agreed. I had a plan of my own. I thought, if I succeeded I could-"

Loki stopped. He sickened himself, telling this girl everything so freely. Nearly everything leastways.

"It doesn't matter. It all got out of hand, and I didn't succeed. I have Thor and his mortal friends to thank for that as well."

"I imagine they did not take kindly to your designs on Midgard?" the princess pushed.

"That they did not."

"But they let you return here, rather than execute you?"

"They did."

"And here you are," she flatly surmised.

"And here I am."

"I suppose you should be glad they granted you that mercy. They could have just as well not been so gracious."

"It doesn't exactly feel like a kindness, standing on this side of the glass," Loki grumbled.

The princess lowered her gaze. "No, I suspect it may not."

_ Is she sorry for me? How dare she...She's the one in need of pity. Pathetic. She's much too easily softened _ .

"What could have possibly driven you down here I wonder?" Loki asked, deciding it was his turn for asking questions. “I take it you could not sleep? Nothing but such desperation could bring you down here willingly."

She shook her head. "Actually the problem was that I  _ was  _ sleeping."

Loki frowned slightly.  "I'm afraid I don't follow." 

"I was dreaming." 

"And that's a problem?"

"It might be. It certainly isn't usual. I slept for over a millennium without dreaming. Mother's medicine has always prevented it. Until now."

"Medicine?" Loki repeated. "Your mother makes you take a potion that steals away your dreams?"

Loki looked her over. Fresh bruises on her wrist. At the very least,  _ he  _ was free to dream.   

"My mother is not quite so cruel as to simply take them. She had a better reason than spite,” said the princess. 

"And that would be?"

_ Something interesting I hope. _

The princess toyed with the cuff of her robe, looking past Loki as she spoke. "My dreaming  _ was _ a problem once, a long time ago." 

Loki lowered his head ever so slightly, to be more on speaking level with the girl. “Vanir often see visions in their dreams. Is that what you mean?” he asked, eyebrow raised.

She shook her head. “While that might be true for other Vanir, I scarcely have such dreams,” she told him. “For me, dreaming is an escape for my magic. The cold seeps out of me and spreads. Sometimes, if the dream is bad, I create terrible storms. The sudden ice stunts crops, wrecks ships... so, better not to have them all together.”

Loki grinned. “So you came here because you had a bad dream? Strange choice. I suppose, knowing you’re under the same roof as a frost giant would be cause for nightmares.”

The princess frowned, confusion covering her face. “Why would that be?

Loki's grin slipped.

"Surely you are making an attempt at humor at my expense, Princess?"

"I meant no such disrespect. I...I simply don't understand what it is you mean."

"Odin as well as told you as much earlier. I am of Jotun blood. A frost giant," Loki huffed.

She seemed thoughtful then, placing a knuckle to her blue lips.

She had such thin delicate fingers. Hands. There was no strength in them. No treat. Even the long nails were shiny, pretty, not dangerous.

"My mother seemed...disturbed by that. I'm sorry but, I don't understand why."

Loki had to struggle to keep his mouth from falling agape. "Don't you know the histories?" he asked her.

"Not extensively. You were at war with them once. I don't really know more than that."

"The frost giants are the most hated enemies in Asgard's history. Hated more than anything. The monsters in all our stories. Who wouldn't hate them after so many years of war?"

"We were at war just as long. We don't hate each other."

Loki laughed. "Do we not? Odin and Freyja had me convinced otherwise."

"Well, not the way you do these giants. I don't hate you anyways," she whispered.

"Only because you don't know any better," he told her, slowly pacing to the other side of his cell. "Don't worry, stay in Asgard, you'll learn."

The princess followed him.

"Are frost giants really so terrible?"

_ She really knows nothing. Empty headed little nit. _

"Frost giants are hulking, brutal, and once, when they were powerful, they thought only of frozen conquest. Not all that different from Asgardians at all. That's the real reason they could never get along. There was only room for one self-important bully in the nine realms. Odin won, and the frost giants faded into destitution."

She paused in thought, crystalline eyes blinking up at him scrutinously. "They couldn't even get into Asgard without your help,” she finally said. “If they were no longer a threat, why try to destroy them?"

Loki shrugged. "It was always only a matter of time. If not by me, Laufey would have found another to aid him in his plot. Then the threat would have been real, and us none the wiser, until it was too late."

The princess’s cool face softened. "You did it for your people...not the throne."

"I didn't do it for them," Loki spat. "I did it for  _ me _ . To be the 'great hero' of Asgard. None of the burdens of the crown. All of the respect and power. That's all I wanted. To be treated as the superior I am."

She was looking at him directly now. Her gaze was far off and almost dreamy, as if she were looking beyond him, and yet she wasn't.

"What?" Loki snapped at her.

"Nothing," she assured him.

Her gaze moved down his body. Picking apart his appearance no doubt.

"Your hand," she mumbled, her voice much softer now, "is it alright?"

Loki looked down. Had he cut himself and not noticed? He saw no injury.

"I was worried I might have injured you earlier."

_ Oh, that _ .

Loki rubbed his wrist, remembering the jolt of icy magic. How it had awakened the most hidden part of himself. "I assure you, I'm quite impervious to the effects of the cold. No matter how intense."

"Your skin turned blue..."

"Yes...I'm honestly surprised you were able to break right through my illusion like that. I thought only the cradle of winter could force me out of it."

"Illusion?"

Loki snorted. "Some seer you are, you can't even tell this isn't my true form. All frost giants are blue. Blue skin, blue blood...red eyes though. Like the fires of Hel. Isn't that charming?"

"So, my magic...I didn't hurt you?"

"Well, it was certainly brisk," he teased.

He lifted his sleeve to reveal his unmarred flesh. "But as you can see, I'm the picture of health."

Her eyes welled and glittered with what might have been tears, but also might have been magic.

"I'm so relieved," she breathed out.

Loki laughed to himself silently.

_ She's not acting. She was actually concerned. The poor dear thing. You just might be useful yet. _

And even if she was not, the conversation was a nice change to the constant silence.

"Frösdine. That's an interesting name," he commented. He wandered to a dish of grapes, inspected one, then plucked it free. "One, I think, not commonly given in Vanaheim. If anywhere at all..."

Loki tossed the grape in his mouth and chewed it down, never taking his eyes off of the girl. Studying her face for hints of secrets.

"You would be correct, Prince Loki. Regardless, it is my name. If it suits you, you may call me Frost. My mother took to it, as have my sisters."

"It certainly suits you."

"Does it?" she asked, her tone flat, her expression one of boredom.

Loki paused. Was this a witless remark? Or was it in fact very witty? He hadn't expected her capable of humor.  

"Oh yes," Loki replied with a smirk, "dry and cold. It suits you very well."

"Is that what you do down here? Day in, day out? Think up witty remarks?"

Loki laughed. "A fair amount of the time, yes. Though to be perfectly honest, it doesn't take much effort on my part."

Frost gazed about his cell at his minimal furnishings. 

"What is it you actually do all day?" she asked.

Loki too turned about to appraise his quaint, contained life. His bed, fine enough, though not as large as he had been accustomed. A less than ideally comfortable chair, broken, by him, and shoddily repaired, also by him. A table of similar status, less successfully repaired and thus wholly untrustworthy to hold much of anything. A meager stack of books, exchanged recently enough, though some he had already read twice. And nothing else of import. 

Loki breathed out a bitter, joyless laugh. "I wasn't joking, dear princess. I have little else to keep my mind from its own musings, save for when they see fit to bring me something worth reading."

To Loki's surprise the princess mirrored his laugh. "Yes," she sighed, placing her hand on the barrier and sending chaotic veins of ice shooting and spinning out into random directions. "Books were my only companions as well."

The golden energy hissed and strained under the pressure of Frost's magic. 

Loki's heart beat increased rapidly. Could she break it if she chose? Was her dark touch truly so powerful?

_I can use that._ _Oh yes, I can certainly use that._

“Were you a prisoner too, princess?” Loki asked her, touching the ice creeping up the wall in front of him.  

“One of my own making perhaps. Then again, perhaps I only choose to believe that though. Vanaheim is delicate, and the cold is uncaring. So I stay locked away, reading, reading, reading. However, unlike you, I can leave if I choose. Or so they have let believe so far.”

A howling wind blew through the corridor. Not sudden and quick as the other, but long and steadily growing, a crescendo of rage that gently died away. It tossed her hair about, but Loki couldn’t feel its kiss. Her eyes gleamed, the shade grew brighter but her face grew darker. How deadly she looked then, meek and mild nowhere to be found. How beautiful she seemed, gowned in power. 

Loki smirked at her. “I could leave if I chose.”

“Then why stay?”

He shrugged. “Thor would only hunt me down again. Best I wait until he takes his leave. And, truth be told, I don’t wish to delay him. I am not so certain I don’t admire his goal. I don’t know how I feel about the idea of these Infinity Stones lurking about out there.”

“They would be much safer in  _ your  _ keeping, I‘m sure.”

Loki’s jaw went slack in shock. “Why you cheeky little-”

“I apologize, I could not resist,” she giggled out.

And for all the danger each of them might have posed, that laugh disarmed them. The ice melted away. 

“What is it you care to read, Prince Loki?” 

_ Charm the girl. Make her like you. You may need her after all. _

Charm was easier than intimidation when behind bars. 

“Literature, poetry mostly. What is there in this world to so appreciate but beauty? And so what form could so well encapsulate beauty but poetry?”

“What about science?” she countered.

“Science?” Loki repeated. Didn’t women like poetry anymore? 

“The study of science is the examination of all the world’s facets. The how and why of  _ everything _ . All her secrets laying in wait to be discovered, like so many blooms waiting to open, to be seen for the first time. All the ugly, all the beauty,” she gushed. “So, my answer would be science.” 

She smiled softly “But, I make a point to be well rounded with my studies, so I am also fond of history and literature, and poetry as well.”

_ So, she is well educated after all. That might make tricking her difficult...but it will make her more enjoyable company, I hope. _

“Is there one you prefer then, princess?” he asked her.

“A poet? Well I enjoy-”

Loki snickered. “A  _ science _ .”

“Oh.” The girl's eyes went wide and the white of her cheeks became less stark in what Loki had to assume was a blush. “Oh yes! I’m very fond of botany, studying plants, learning to grow them, and how they can be used. They seem such gentle sedentary things, with their beauty and their secrets...but they impact everything around them in ways we fail to fully understand.”

She was smiling now, eyes glittering, practically bouncing in her slippers. Loki admired the soft glow about her. People were always more interesting when you kindled their passion.

“The smallest change in their world can spell disaster for us, their lives and our own being so intricately interwoven. To study them is to study ourselves, and much like people, they are seldom as they seem. You likely know holly berries are quite poisonous. Yet we decorate our halls with them for the festivities of Yule, never thinking their cheerful color is meant to be threatening.  And atropa belladonna, deadly nightshade, well known to be poisonous, but prepared properly it can be a life saving medicine. If no one studied the plants we would never have known...”

She trailed off, as if she had suddenly remembered her shy timid nature. She cast a nervous glance away, then back to Loki. Perhaps she thought he was disinterested. Not listening. The glitter of excitement in Frost’s eyes flickered, threatening to be extinguished all together. 

Loki gave her a soft smile and subtly bowed his head to her. “Please, continue.”

Frost combed her fingers through her hair, her eyes downcast. “I only meant...in plants and flowers, there is as much poetry to be found as in between the pages of your books. Both grant life in their own ways.”

Loki leaned his shoulder against the barrier and looked the girl over. He cared little for plants, but to hear her speak of them in this way was almost endearing. Her profoundness, sentimental as it may be, stroked within him, a deeper curiosity for her. Timid waif, or uncontained force of destruction? Clever minx or oblivious pawn? Where lay her truest nature? Loki felt his hunger to discover more sharpen. 

“I don’t know much about flowers and berries I’m afraid, but I quite like how you speak of them,” he said softly, fingers toying with the frayed hem of his shirt. “Perhaps I shall make an effort to educate myself on them so I might properly engage you in conversation.”

Color crept into her face. “No one else bothers. My brothers and sisters have always been more interested in war games and dancing and dresses than plants or animals, or even poetry. Or anything I have to say, really...”

“That’s my brother for you just as well, all he ever wanted to do when we were boys was fight. Now that we’re grown he’s got his wish and he still isn’t happy,” Loki huffed.

Frost laughed, though whether she found this genuinely funny or was merely being polite, Loki couldn’t tell.

He had to find a better way to dissect her. But how? 

Her attention had waned, she was again gazing into the room behind him, but at what? He followed her eyes to the game set on the...questionable table. She was brimming with appraisal and intrigue. The desire to see, to touch.  

“Do you play?” he asked her, gesturing to the game set.

She nodded hesitantly.     

“I haven't had anyone to play in some time. I know it is late, but could I ask you to indulge me a little while longer?”

“Play you? I’m not sure it would be sufficiently entertaining for you, Your Highness. Everyone tells me you are dreadfully clever. I may not be any challenge for you."

"Then you should be all the more thankful I wish to play you,” he announced. Loki strode across the cell, collected his chair, and placed it in front of the barrier.  “It will be an excellent learning opportunity for you." 

Still she hesitated.

“You can’t get better if you don’t practice,” Loki urged.

“If you should like,” she agreed. 

Loki lifted the footstool and placed it in front of his chair, then, as carefully as he could, carried the game set over and laid it on top. Black for him, white for her. While setting the toppled pieces right, Loki looked down the hallway and frowned. 

“I hate for you to stand.”

Frost shook her head and knelt down. “Not to worry.”

She placed her palm to the floor and slowly raised it. As she did so, a pillar of ice rose out from the ground. It steadily grew as she lifted herself from the floor and in a minute’s time she had a perfectly comfortable seat. Comfortable enough for her at least.  

“Shall we?” she asked, scooping her dressing gown under her legs as she sat down.

The first game they played quietly. This suited Loki and his goals just fine. She scarcely took her eyes off of the board, and Loki kept his own locked on her. She was slow to make her moves, clearly thinking out the repercussions of each one, weighing the pros and cons. Her face never betrayed any emotion.

_ Cool headed. Even tempered. _

_ Cautious or slow?  _

_ All so measured. She’s worked hard on crafting this mask.   _

_ Good at pretending.  _

_ Good liar? _

When she finished deciding, she announced her moves clearly and confidently. She watched Loki move her pieces, and his own, keenly. She didn’t make eye contact with him. Either she felt confident enough to do without, or her confidence was entirely a ruse, and she feared meeting his gaze would give her away.

_ Perceptive. _

_ Alert. _

_ Untrusting. Wise on her part. _

_ Self assured? _

The game was over quicker than Loki would have liked, he’d beaten her easily, though she had played well. He frowned at the board before collecting the misplaced pieces.

“I told you so,” she fretted, twisting the tie of her robe around her finger. Her brow was furrowed, likely with embarrassment. No one likes to lose after all. Her lips seemed pouty to him. Not at all the stoic face she’d kept up during the game. Not the face of a regal princess, closer to that of a petulant child. And while worn by a child the expression should have been irritating, on her it appeared almost cute.  

One game was hardly enough to learn what he desired.

“You’re just nervous,” he assured her. “You’ll do better this time, you’ll see.”

She gave Loki a wry half smile. “Promise not to go easy on me?”

“Promise.”

The first promise he’d made with the intention of keeping it in a long time. But he had to find a way to lower her guard.

“Sprite to D4,” Frost commanded.

Loki’s hand paused over the board. “Sprite?”

“I’m sorry, soldier. We call them sprites in Vanaheim. Our pieces are little faeries, not warriors.”

“Ah. Sprite to D4,” Loki repeated sliding the small white toten towards himself. “Are there other differences?”

Frost nodded. “Mm. The piece you called a scout, we call it a priestess.”

Loki held his move, though he already knew what it would be. “Who taught you to play, princess?”

“My father. Though I soon outgrew him,” she said with a hint of laughter in her voice. "All those years, you think he could have improved a little…"  

"So you had a poor teacher,”Loki mused, knocking her pawn over. "That makes sense, what with all these holes in your strategy..."

Frost shot him a dirty look. "My father wasn't greatly skilled at the game. But my sister Ragna was. I think perhaps mother taught her. She beat me over and over for ages. The first time I ever won she hit me in the nose with her Valkyrie piece. Mother didn’t let me play with her anymore after that…Sprite to G5.”

Loki made her move, then his own. “You can’t remember all of this from your childhood. Who did you play after that?”

“Only my mother. And only when she could be bothered to see me. Which, wasn’t often, but when she did see me she made me play for hours. Most of the time I rather enjoyed it. It was a special treat to spend time with her. But when I failed to improve my games...It was not always so. Who taught you then?”

Loki’s hand closed around his pawn, squeezing tight. “My own mother.”

“Oh,” the princess gasped. “Forgive me, I didn’t think…”

“It’s alright,” he assured her. He set his token down. Not the best move. Not even a good move, but he’d moved, and one mistake wouldn’t cost him the game. “My mother taught me...well, most anything of use honestly. The most important thing she ever taught me was to always play to my strengths. Thor was big, was always going to be stronger than me, so I had to be smarter than him. That requires forethought, patience, insight...so, this was, of course, an invaluable tool.”

“And were you a good student?”

“Not always. But she was a very good teacher.”

“I see.”

She took a long time to make her next move, fully exploiting the hole Loki had made in his own defense.

_ Prone to sentimentality.  _

_ Looks before she leaps, even when presented with a clear opportunity. _

“Your mother. I heard she died in the dark elf attack. I never met her, Queen Frigga, but my mother always spoke very fondly of her. She loved her dearly and respected her a great deal. That means a lot from her. I am...sorry to learn of her death. She must have been a remarkable woman.”

The back of Loki’s neck seared with heat and a painful shiver rolled down his back. For a moment all that raw emotion threatened to bubble out of him, then, as quickly as it appeared, it drained away. 

“She was,” he said. His mouth felt dry.

They played in silence for a time. Piece after piece fell, both sides taking losses. Loki’s previous mistake was proving to be more costly than he had originally thought, and now the game was much closer than the first. Loki forgot all about studying his opponent. He should have been angry, but he was enjoying the challenge. Day in day out, no one to talk to, he could feel himself losing his edge. Playing with her felt like a breath of fresh air. 

Slowly the tension melted away and they were amiably chatting again. They spoke more of books and poetry, and a little of siblings. It was apparent to Loki that while they both had had lonely and isolated childhoods, they were vastly different. Sensing it was a sore subject, and wanting to avoid spoiling the game, he steered the conversation away from the topic. 

Eventually there stood no pieces left on the field save for the two Allfathers. 

“Well then,” Loki murmured, “We have a draw.”

“It would appear so.”

Loki grinned. “Well done. I told you that you would improve.” 

"I didn't improve," she informed him, "you got worse."

"Is that so?" Loki snapped. He did his best to appear offended, but inside he was giddy.

"Then the only sensible thing to do is to play a deciding match."

Frost looked down the hall towards the clueless guards. "It is late Your Highness, and while my spell is quite good, it will not last forever. I think I should turn in now."

"Just one more," Loki wheedled. "We can make this one more interesting. A little wager. What say you?"

_ Come now, everyone likes a game of chance don't they? Take the bait princess. _

"A wager? I'm afraid I have nothing of value to give you Prince Loki."

Loki's grin widened.

_ You have plenty of value to me ice princess. Plenty. _

"You have something of immeasurable import to me. The most valuable thing someone can grant you."

Frost frowned. "What might that be?"

"That which cannot be bought, but only given freely. The truth."

"The truth? Excuse me Your Highness, but, the truth of what exactly?"

"I haven't decided. I shall think of a question while we play. If I win, you'll answer me honestly."

She raised an eyebrow at this. "And if  _ I _ win?"

"You may ask me anything you like, and I shall do the same."

"Forgive me Your Highness, but what is to stop me from lying to you?"

"Oh, you won't lie to me," Loki assured her with a smile. "First of all, you won't lie to me, because I'll know. A well versed liar can always spot a lie. And secondly, you won't lie to me because you have no reason to. Nothing to be gained. You won't lie to me."

Her brow knitted up slightly. "If you're such a well versed liar, what's to stop  _ you  _ from lying to me should  _ I  _ win?"

Loki gestured dismissively at the room around him. "Much the same reasons really. I have nothing to gain by lying to you. I am, quite literally, in a position to gain nothing at all."

Frost brought her hands, which had been neatly folded in her lap for the duration of their conversation so far, to a lock of her hair. She hastily braided it, then unbraided it, then braided it again, clearly thinking things over.

"Very well," she conceded, "I'll play."

Loki reset the board and awaited Frost's first move. The room was silent once more, only Frost spoke to direct Loki's hand. The only other sound to be heard was the click of marble against marble as the make believe soldiers marched into battle. The game moved slower this time, each side more thoughtful about sacrificing a piece. Still, the collection of prisoners of war grew, one by one. 

Loki fully believed he had sussed out Frost's strategy and would beat her, sooner or later, when she suddenly moved her high lady out of cover.

_ What in the Nine Realms is she doing? _

Loki studied the board with great care. It was a trap, it was the only way she would make such a risky move, but if there were pincers laying in wait to capture him, he could not find them.

_ I’m not playing your game princess. She wants me to attack her queen. Two can play at this game… _

Loki took up his tower piece and moved it away from the field of contention. As senseless a move as hers. 

“High lady to E7,” she ordered with a smile.

Loki glared and moved the token.   


_ What is she playing at? She didn’t try to check… _

Loki couldn’t help but smile back. He moved his valkyrie towards the high lady.

“High lady E6.”

“Isn’t there a rule about skiddling about pointlessly? I could have sworn there was,” Loki cautioned her.

“You’re not convinced it’s pointless though are you?”

Loki slid his tower back to threaten her high lady. “No,” he grumbled.

“Priestess to H6.”

Loki moved his other tower to meet it.

“You aren’t going to sacrifice that piece,” he muttered. “Not that easily.

“No? Pawn to G7.”

“You…”

“You moved your tower away. Pawn to G7.”

Loki bit his lip and slid the piece forward.

“I believe that is check.”

“You don’t-”

“You moved your second tower to menace my lady. Why you didn’t take her I can not possibly fathom, but you spared her, and now you can not catch her. You can not move out of check on your next turn, no matter what move you make now. So, then, I will have checkmate.”

Loki ran over his possible moves but he already knew she was right. He was checked. He had given it to her when he allowed her high lady to pass his defences. He'd been so focused on the lady he had forgotten entirely about her pawn he'd intended to capture. 

_ Is she clever or lucky? She doesn't know and neither do I.  _

Loki laughed to himself and gently knocked his Allfather over. "The game is yours princess."

Loki stood and gave Frost a courteous bow of his head. "Congratulations, you're clearly much better than you or I gave you credit for. I'd shake your hand, but…"

Frost stood and returned his bow, her ice chair fizzling away into snow and wind behind her. "You played remarkably well. Thank you for the exciting match."  

She smiled at him, a bright beaming smile. Too warm, too genuine. Loki's own smile faltered, cracking apart and falling from his face like chipping paint.

"You will retire now?" he asked her.

Frost cast a nervous glance at the einherjar still under her spell. "I must."

"I understand."

"But first, regarding my boon."

Loki chuckled and straightened his coat. "Ah, yes, your question. Very well, one absolute unbesmirched truth. What is it you wish to know?"

“I would like to ask a favor of you. I’m afraid I don’t yet know what it is I wish to ask you. Might I have some time to think on the matter?”

“Calculated in this as well...I see. Very well, take all the time you need.”

_ Smart girl. _

“Thank you, I appreciate it. And thank you again for the game.”

“You are quite welcome,” Loki assured her.  And he meant it. He had even managed to recover a bit of his smile.

The princess stood quiet for a moment rather than scampering off to bed. Once again her fingers were bothering the fabric of her robe. “Your Highness,” she began, her voice as soft as baby’s breath. “If you might permit me...I should like to play again sometime."

Loki started back dumbly. 

She wanted to return? She would still like to see him again after he had been so rude? After everything she had learned about him? Loki was, surprised, to say the least, but also somewhat relieved. He found he too would like to meet again. She was intelligent. She was dangerous. She was, Loki decided, enticing, regardless to what end. 

Loki cleared his throat before he answered. "I may reside here, princess, but the dungeons are in no way my domain. You are free to return or not, entirely of your own accord."

"Still, I should not like to go where I am unwanted," Frost replied. 

Loki swiped his thumb over his chin before raising his eyes to meet her gaze fully. "You are unwelcome here, princess, but not by me. My time is yours, should you ever desire it."

"I am glad to hear it.” She smiled again. This time the warmth wasn’t quite as harsh to him. “I bid you a good night then, Loki.” 

And with that, she gave him a deep curtsey and whisked herself down the hall, out of view, leaving a trail of snowflakes in her wake. Loki watched after her, seeing the glamor keeping the guards away disappear as they snapped back to attention. He watched after her for a long time.

He felt a warmth come over him, a rush of exhilaration, the likes of which he had not felt since he sat on the throne and lied to Thor. He could feel his blood rushing, feel strength returning to his body, his mind. A mischievous grin broke out across his face. His mind was made up.

_ It’s about time I had some fun again. So let’s play, Princess.  _

❄❄❄


End file.
